


Blue Moon

by AsexualDerek (Cammerel)



Series: You Be Mulder and I'll Be Scully [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Alcohol, Alternative Universe - FBI, Attempted Murder, Awkward Stiles, Awkwardness, Blood, Body Horror, Confessions While High, Corpse Desecration, Corpses, Crime Scenes, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Drug Use, Drugs, Drunk Stiles, Drunkenness, F/F, F/M, FBI Agent Derek, FBI Agent Derek Hale, FBI Agent Stiles, Fighting, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Infidelity, Knives, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mildly Dubious Consent, Murder, Mutilation, Psychotropic Drugs, References to Knotting, Seizures, Shooting Guns, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Stabbing, Straight Sex, Swearing, Tragedy, Urination, Vaginal Sex, Violence, Vomiting, Weapons, Wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 24
Words: 113,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cammerel/pseuds/AsexualDerek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Agent Hale's partner is killed, he gets landed with a young, nubile agent that doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut and stop asking questions about things that aren't his business to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Office Agent

**Author's Note:**

> We ask that you please read [THIS](http://asexualderek.tumblr.com/private/74003355410/tumblr_mzpxlv83ba1rxjbyo) before reading on, at least the summary version up top.

Derek has anticipated getting the call from his superiors for some time now. It’s been a few weeks, and he was initially concerned that they were going to pair him up with Argent, or someone worse (if it was possible), but they don’t.

They don’t pair him up with anyone he’s familiar with - the name on the form is ‘Stilinski’ - and Deucalion talking to him on the other side of the phone keeps saying things like ‘young’ and ‘fresh meat’ and ‘a new perspective’. He doesn’t really get it for a couple solid minutes before he realizes that he’s been partnered with a rookie, a **child** \- a brand new agent that has just had their training wheels installed.

He looks at the empty desk in front of him as his rage starts taking over, his blood boiling until the phone snaps in his hand like a toothpick and he stands up, the legs of his chair scraping along the carpet until it falls backwards and he moves quickly towards the back office.

He opens the door without bothering to knock and shoves passed the boy in the seat in front of the desk, slamming his palms on the surface as he looks at Mr. Deaton, “Are you fucking serious?” He all but shouts, his body shaking as he fights the instinct to shift.

The assistant director looks up from his papers slowly and smiles at Derek like he’s dealing with a disgruntled child, “Derek-”

“Don’t ‘Derek’ me,” The werewolf interrupts him, “I’m a senior agent and you’re partnering me up with this… This-” He looks at the new agent and shakes his head, “If you pair me up with him, I’m **quitting**.”

Stiles openly takes offense to his new partner/man bear’s words and bristles a little in his seat, sitting up straighter as he stares up at the older man, “Calm down there, Bruce Banner,” He says cooly, glancing at Deaton with his brows drawn tight. It took him a while (and copious amounts of encouragement) to even get to this point, and he’s not planning on letting some constipated senior agent scare him off.

Derek pointedly ignores the boy and stares firmly at Deaton, “I’m not gonna be assigned to watching after this kid and making sure his messes are cleaned up. I’d rather work alone.”

Mr. Deaton motions to the second chair, “Sit down, Derek.”

Derek lets out a huff of breath through his nose, pressing his lips together as he lifts his brows in challenge.

“Agent Hale,” Deaton says, lifting his **own** brows, “Sit down.”

As much as he wants to argue, Derek sits, his body still shaking as he looks away from the both of them, “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” it can’t be legitimate. He’s not sure what he did and who he managed to piss off in the company to get shafted like this, but taking the boy under his wing is about as embarrassing as being assigned to paperwork.

“Kidding you he is not, partner,” Stiles does his best Yoda voice and slouches a little in his chair, glancing back and forth between the assistant director and Derek, “And besides,” He says, leaning closer to the jilted agent, “I’m a big boy, I can clean up my own messes.”

Derek looks at Deaton again, “Why?”

“Don’t ask ‘why’, just deal with it,” Mr. Deaton says as he looks back down to continue signing the papers and filling them out, “He’s your partner now, Derek, and I’d hope that you show him as much respect as your last partner.”

“My last partner didn’t make Star Trek jokes and wear a [**shoulder** holster](https://31.media.tumblr.com/71206bd47622a18d1aa31cd05e2b0190/tumblr_inline_mzxjqsb8aN1rniey4.jpg),” Derek responds stiffly, “Assign him to someone else, I’m quitting.”

“No you’re not,” Deaton says and gives Derek an intense, meaningful look, “He might be the one making jokes, but you’re the one acting underage.”

“I’m the one getting the short end of the stick, anyways,” Stiles chimes in and crosses his arms, pulling his holster tight across his shoulders and back, “Any well educated person up to date with pop culture knows it was a Star _Wars_ reference, not Star _Trek_ , dude. And I'm better with a shoulder holster, don't hate.”

Deaton smiles to himself, “Agent Hale’s only familiarity with pop culture consists of Hercules, and The Three Stooges.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “You don’t think he’s better suited with Argent, instead of me?”

“If I put him with Allison, he’d be dead within a week.”

“You honestly think it’ll be different with me?” Derek asks suddenly, and then frowns at the concerned look Deaton gives him.

“Derek,” Alan starts, and then looks at Stiles, “I think if I had **every** agent available to put him with, I’d still partner him with you, now will you stop saying you’re going to quit? You’ve been saying that for the past ten years.”

Derek considers the older man’s words and sighs, it’s typical, he should be use to being insulted and then excused. He puts his hands in his lap, “Can we go?”

Stiles looks from Derek to Deaton then and leans forward to gather the rest of his paperwork from the edge of the solid oak desk before sitting back, staring hopefully at the assistant director. He’s kind of anxious to stretch his legs and get comfortable around the office, maybe even get his desk situated and catch up with Scott.

“Go ahead,” Deaton says as he looks back down, “Don’t do anything big with him for the next couple weeks, someone else can handle those cases.”

“I was in the middle of one,” Derek starts to argue.

“Give it to McCall,” Deaton responds dismissively, “Your partner is more important than a case, get him settled at his desk first.”

Derek stands up, looking at the other agent and shaking his head before walking out of the room and waiting on agent Stilinski to follow.

Stiles nods to Deaton as he stands up as well and tucks his papers under his right arm, stepping out of the room after his partner, “Where are we stationed?” He asks conversationally.

Derek looks down at Stiles and doesn’t bother saying anything, motioning instead to the desk where Erica is already replacing his phone, looking up at him suggestively as he walks to his seat, “Thanks,” He says stiffly as he nods to her.

“No problem, sweetheart,” Erica responds and winks at him before gathering up the broken phone, stopping briefly next to Stiles to lean and whisper in his ear, “He doesn’t play well with others. His bark is worse than his bite, though,” She says, smiling at Derek before stalking off.

Stiles clears his throat and lays his papers down on the desk parallel to Derek’s, nodding subtly to himself, “She seems friendly.”

Derek narrows his brows and takes his seat, “She’s the receptionist,” He says informatively, watching as the young man sets his papers down and Derek tightens his hand into a fist as he checks the new phone.

“Get… Comfortable,” It takes everything he has to say the words, even though he doesn’t like the idea of Stilinski sitting there. The thought of looking across desks and seeing the kid looking back makes Derek want to punch him, or flip his desk, but he remains otherwise silent.

Stiles nods to Derek’s seemingly forced words and sits down at the desk, scooting his seat closer as he goes through all of his paper work quickly before stuffing it into a small filing section within a drawer.

The top of the desk is fairly empty, aside from a calendar, monitor, phone and lamp - no real signs of anyone who sat here before him, but he knows that’s not the case. He can gather that Derek previously had a partner, he’s just a little fuzzy on the details of what happened.

Glancing to the nameplate on Derek’s desk, Stiles quirks a brow and gestures to it, “When do I get one of those?”

“In a week,” Derek says as he hangs up the phone and concludes the work on his latest case. He’d actually been looking forward to it until this mess with a new partner happened, but it’s somewhat relieving to drop it entirely, even though he’d rather be out on a job than babysitting a rookie agent.

Stiles nods again and picks a pen up off of the surface of his desk, tapping the end of it against said desk noisily as he makes a mental note to pick up a pen holder on his way home, “So, how long have you been here?” He asks, leaning forward and watching his new partner curiously. Getting to know the other man is kind of in the job description, even if he’s not particularly gung-ho about it.

“Twelve years,” Derek responds shortly, giving the other agent a pointed look as if to say ‘and now I’m stuck with you’. He looks back down to the file, cleaning the debris from the last phone off his desk and dumping it into the trash. He’s broken a few in his time with the FBI, unfortunately. But he’s big enough that it doesn’t raise much suspicion.

“That’s a really long time,” Stiles says idly and props his elbows on the desk as he continues to watch the other man, “How long were you with your last partner?” He asks and, in all honesty, he doesn’t expect much of an answer.

Derek sighs in annoyance and looks at the boy, settling his forearms on the desk as he stills, “Eleven years.”

“Wow,” Stiles says tactlessly, eyes widening as he continues to tap away, unphased by the older man’s piercing gaze, “That’s-what happened to them?”

“Him, and it’s none of your business,” Derek says, patience finally running thin, “Did you ask so many questions during your training?”

“Yeah, probably,” Stiles tells him honestly and resigns himself to asking Scott what happened to Derek’s old partner, “Got a wife or kids?”

Derek frowns even more, “No.”

“That doesn’t really surprise me,” Stiles says under his breath, because he can’t really imagine Derek being the ‘family man’ type, “I have a girlfriend,” He offers, figuring why not, because it’s not like his new partner is asking any questions about him.

“Good for you,” Derek responds, ignoring what Stilinski says otherwise. He couldn’t care less, and the more the boy talks the more Derek wants to shove his phone down Stilinski’s throat.

“It is,” Stiles nods and decides not to acknowledge the sarcasm, “It **is** good for me. I think you could probably benefit from having someone in your life, a leading lady. Maybe you wouldn’t look like you have a stick shoved up your ass all the time.”

“I think if you don’t shut your fucking mouth, I’m going to shut it **for** you,” Derek says as he glares at the boy, “You’ve known me for less than five minutes and you’re already making assumptions. You’re barely cutting teeth, save the quick profiling for someone with a few more years on them.”

“You know,” Stiles muses and to be honest, he should be terrified of this guy, because he’s built like a brick wall and he’s just as tall, but he can’t help being irked by the senior agent’s ‘cold’ facade, “I think it’s pretty hypocritical of you to say something like that when I could practically hear you thinking about how inept I am. You’re probably assuming I’m going to be shit at my job because I’m so young. But you don’t know me either, _Hale_ , so you can shove the scary, tough guy act.”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Derek asks rhetorically, then stands up and moves to Scott McCall’s desk, setting the last case file he was working on down on the other agent’s desk before moving back to his, “You comfortable enough, yet?”

Stiles snorts in amusement at how the other agent can go from wanting to forcefully shut him up to asking him if he’s comfortable enough, but he nods anyway, “It isn’t really cluttered enough for my liking, but yeah, I guess I’m good for now.”

“Good, let’s go,” Derek says as he grabs his [paddle holster](https://31.media.tumblr.com/7fd790239db58ea86263a616930cad6b/tumblr_inline_mzxjg0ITpt1rniey4.jpg) from the side of his chair and puts it on his belt.

Stiles’s mouth drops open and he gapes a little bit in confusion, glancing down at his credentials and patting his side to make sure his holster’s in place, “Where’re we going?” He asks curiously as he stands.

Derek takes up his coat and tucks his chair in before walking around to the boy, “Lunch,” He says as he grabs the top folder from the pile on his desk and walks out of the front room, to the elevator as he opens it.

Stiles follows mindlessly and reaches out to hit the button once he’s in the elevator with Derek, glancing at the file as he wonders if it’s mandatory to actually have lunch with your partner, “What do we got?” He asks, nodding to the manila folder, because he hasn’t gotten a chance to look yet.

Derek sighs and closes the file in annoyance, suddenly remembering why he’d been interested in the last case he’d taken, “Stakeout,” He says simply, fighting the urge to roll his eyes as he checks his watch, “What do you wanna eat?”

“Whatever doesn’t make you gassy, dude,” Stiles shrugs and dreads the idea of being stuck in a vehicle with his new dickbag of a partner, “Because I’m not gonna sit and waft in your ass gas the whole time.”

Derek’s eyes widen and he looks at the boy in annoyance, “Right,” He says and walks out of the elevator, leaving the building and walking passed agent Whittemore and his partner. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Stilinski looked like a child, acting like one has clearly become his priority.

“I see you got stuck with a rookie, Hale,” Jackson turns and calls out to agent Hale, a shit eating smirk plastered to his face as he feigns sympathy, “That's harsh. Maybe you should’ve been watching Boyd’s back a little better, yeah?”

Stiles watches the exchange, or watches the agent he doesn’t know, rather, speak to Derek’s back as he wonders if his partner’s even going to acknowledge the jibes.

Derek clenches his jaw and doesn’t bother looking back as he walks to his car and takes out his keys, unlocking it and sliding into the front seat. Jackson’s nothing more than a coward, and he knows better than anyone that there’s no heat to the agent’s words, he’s just a dumb, ignorant jackass with no filter.

Stiles glances back at the other agent once more before following Derek, somewhat admiring the other man’s restraint to not do anything, especially when he could tell it pissed him off by the way he stiffened slightly at the words.

He climbs into the passenger side seat of the vehicle and looks at his partner, “Who’s Boyd?” He asks.

Derek glances at Stiles before he pulls on his seatbelt and puts his keys in the ignition, “My partner,” He says as he starts the car and pulls out of his spot.

Stiles nods and kind of wants to correct the older man, inform him that it was his previous partner, but he decides against it, figuring it would probably seem insensitive, “So I’m guessing that guy’s a little bit of a bitch,” He says, gesturing back towards the building.

Derek looks at Stiles, “Yeah,” He says as he clears his throat, “Agent Whittemore, he talks before he thinks... Or he doesn’t think at all.”

“I can kinda relate to the whole 'no filter' thing,” Stiles mumbles, “But yeah, he definitely kinda seems like a dick. I think I remember Scott saying something about the guy, think he said Whittemore was shady or something.”

“Scott?” Derek raises a brow, “Agent McCall?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles says and looks at Derek, “We’ve been best friends since before we could walk. You talk to him much?”

Derek shakes his head subtly, “No, but he’s an agent,” Which he figures the boy already knows, “He’s a good agent.”

“Yeah, Scotty’s a pretty solid guy,” Stiles agrees and it’s kind of nice to know that Derek doesn’t completely loathe **everyone** , “I had a crush on his wife from like, kindergarten all the way to high school.”

Derek nods as he considers the comment, Lydia Martin is particularly attractive, at least to most of the men of the FBI, he’s heard more than he’s ever wanted to hear about what they think of her.

He checks his rear-view mirror and changes lanes, “He’s been here for a couple years, what took you so long?”

“Um,” Stiles is kind of taken aback by the fact that Derek’s actually asking a legitimate question, “A lot of things held me back, I think,” He explains, knowing he doesn’t have to go into great detail, “I think my dad kinda wanted me to follow in his footsteps, become sheriff… And I wasn’t really sure if working with my best friend would be a good idea or not.”

Derek pulls into the McDonald’s and parks, looking at the other agent and staring at him for a moment, “Your father’s a sheriff?”

Stiles tilts his head and looks at his partner, nodding slowly, “Yep, Beacon Hills,” He says, then gets out of the vehicle abruptly.

Derek does the same, leaving his coat in the car and locking it up as he follows the boy. He remains silent, holding the door open for a group of women walking out and only speaking to make his order before they’re seated at a table.

Even though he doesn’t really care, and he’d rather be doing about anything else, he decides to ask more, “Why become an agent of the FBI if your dad’s a sheriff?”

“Because,” Stiles starts and rips the foil off of his barbeque sauce for his nuggets, “It’s-I dunno, it’s something I’ve always wanted to do… The cases are bigger, it’ll be more of a challenge and I think that that’s something I need.”

He shrugs, “I could’ve been a sheriff, growing up I think I solved most of my dad’s cases before he did. It just got kinda boring after a while.”

Derek starts in on the first of four of his big macs, barely listening to Stilinski but nodding and taking a sip of his coke, “Good point,” He says and watches the younger man before opening the file he’s set aside, reading it over as he eats.

Stiles is about ninety percent sure that Derek didn’t really hear a single thing he said, so he rolls his eyes and opts for shoving his nuggets into his mouth instead, chewing around a mouthful as he points to the file, “Why’re we staking out?”

“Ashley Franco,” Derek mutters as he reads the case, “She’s wanted for questioning in two murder cases, one being a retired cop.” He licks his lips before taking another bite of his burger, “Some hotel about thirty minutes from here.”

Stiles swallows and takes a drink of his soda, bending the straw between his lips before sitting it back down, “Deaton wasn’t kidding when he said nothing big for a while, huh?”

Derek shrugs, “We don’t get new agents often,” He says as he closes the file, “The last one we put on a real case their first day got shot. We have a lot of small cases for that reason.”

“Just a precautionary measure then, I guess,” Stiles muses, even though he’d rather be knees deep in a big case right about now, instead of staking out to bring a girl in for questioning.

Derek nods and looks at the younger man, “It’s boring work, but even on some of the easy stuff, things can get out of hand. Speaking from personal experience,” Probably more personal than the boy understands, and probably ever will, “She’s irate, she’s armed, and she knows that she’s wanted - it’s simple only on the surface.”

Stiles is exceptionally thankful for the thin kevlar vest he’s got on under his work shirt, because with all of that being said, it seems like it **could** get pretty hairy, “You’ve been with the bureau for twelve years, I’m assuming you like what you do?”

“I did,” Derek says as he lets out a tight breath and starts on his second burger. He was already getting a little worn down when he was still partnered with Vernon, this setback has only made it more difficult to be passionate about his work.

Deciding to take the response at face value, Stiles nods minutely and decides to change the subject, brows raising as he gestures to the boxes the older man’s big macs came in, “Are you like, a bottomless pit or something? Who even eats **four** big macs? It’s like a heart attack waiting to happen.”

Derek shrugs and looks at the food, “I eat about twice this for breakfast and dinner,” He says dismissively, eying the large fries and reaching out for a few.

“That’s insane,” Stiles says as he shoves two chicken nuggets at a time in his mouth, “I’m just gonna assume you’re like me in that regard, you can eat and eat, but never really gain any weight. You must work out like a boss, though, you seem pretty built.”

“I don’t have a ‘leading lady’,” Derek responds, “I have lots of free time.”

The boy has no clue, considering he’s worn nothing but his dress shirt around Stilinski, and he hasn’t even bothered to roll back his sleeves, “The job motivates you to work out, too, once you get to my age eating isn’t the only thing your body requires.” Granted he has a distinct advantage there, but that doesn't stop him from going to the gym and playing basketball at **least** once a week.

“What’s that supposed to even mean?” Stiles asks, snorting at his partner, “‘My age’. I get that you’re older, but there’s no way you’re like, over thirty or thirty-two.”

“Thirty-six,” Derek clarifies and finishes his second burger, “Once you finish we should probably get going, I can eat the rest in the car. It’s not like we’re going anywhere for the next few hours.”

Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek thoughtfully and silently works on finishing off the rest of his food. It seems kind of insane that his partner is literally ten years older than him and he doesn’t even look like it. All he can really chalk it up to is good genetics, and after a moment he drops the thought and takes a drink of his soda, “Okay, I’m good. Let’s go.”

Derek tucks the rest of his food in his bag and stands up, taking the file from the table and his soda before walking out of the front doors, holding it open for his partner as he glances around and then follows the younger man back to his car.

Stiles waits until Derek unlocks the car before climbing in, putting his cup of soda in the cup holder and pulling his seatbelt on, “What if I have to piss or something during the stakeout?”

“That’s why there’s two of us,” Derek responds as he starts the car and glances at the other man, “But you should probably hold it, if you can.”

“I have a small bladder, Hale,” Stiles scoffs, “I’m not gonna be able to hold it if I have to go. You got any bottles in here?” He asks, and even though he’s joking, he doesn’t smile.

“You’re not taking a piss in my car,” Derek says at once as he pulls out onto the main road.

“It wouldn’t technically be **in** your car,” Stiles says and at this point, he’s purposefully trying to fuck with the guy, “It’d be in a bottle, my piss wouldn’t even touch your stupid seats.”

Derek looks at Stilinski firmly, not reacting to the boy’s words more or less before he turns back to the road.

“It was easier to get a rise out of you back at the office,” Stiles mumbles to himself and decides to give up, grabbing the case file to read the details and to get a good look at the wanted suspect.

Derek rolls his eyes as he drives in silence. He has half a mind to tell the agent that he shouldn’t **try** to get a rise out of a werewolf, but it’s pointless. He’s managed to keep his secret from the entire FBI, including Boyd, the last thing he’d want to do is clue Stilinski in.

Stiles takes advantage during the drive and continues sifting through the file, noting the suspects known acquaintances and reading the reports to pass the time.

Derek parks finally, shifting the angle of his seat for comfort before he starts in on his last burger, glancing around the lot as he eats, “Find anything interesting?”

Stiles hums noncommittally at first and looks up from the file with furrowed brows, glancing at Derek briefly, “Just conflicting statements, I think someone was trying to cover for her.”

“Likely, even if she’s here, she’s probably not alone.”

“I’d be surprised if she was,” Stiles admits and closes the file before sitting it back down, watching their surroundings warily.

“Like I said before, easy on the surface,” Derek repeats himself as he shakes his head, “If we see her, and she’s not alone, it’s still our job to bring her in. I doubt she’d come willingly,” He looks at Stiles, “It’s just as dangerous as any other case.”

“And what if she’s not alone?” Stiles asks curiously, even though he’s still pretty much okay with trying to bring the suspect in regardless.

Derek shrugs, “She’s the target, another person isn’t important… Unless they’re armed,” He finishes the burger and takes up one of the large fries, “If we can tell they’re carrying a gun, any of them, we need to call in for further instruction. If not, we have to approach her and… Hope it doesn’t get out of hand.”

“Actually sounds pretty exciting,” Stiles says and he hates that he comes off sounding like some inexperienced rookie looking for a thrill, but this is something he’s wanted to do for a long time, and the fact that he’s actually getting to do it is still a little surreal.

Derek raises a brow at Stilinski but doesn’t bother commenting on the boy’s enthusiasm, “Most hope for the call; it’s safer. But how many people that are wanted walk around holding a gun in the open? The chances of them concealing it is a lot higher. If we see them, or just Ashley, let me do the talking, that way you get the idea of how it’s done.”

“Gotchya,” Stiles nods and blows out a heavy breath, vibrating his lips with it as he slouches a little and continues to keep an eye out for the girl.

“Otherwise, it’s boring PI work, not really for FBI.”

“Why did you get into the FBI in the first place?” Stiles asks, because he’s divulged why he did, but he’s still not sure what the older man’s motive was.

Derek frowns and shakes his head, “Personal reasons,” He says and sips his coke, “I wasn’t like you, I didn’t aspire.”

“Must be a Hell of a reason if you’ve been with the bureau for twelve years,” Stiles muses conversationally.

“It was,” Derek mutters as his brows tighten together, as the years have went on, though, the reason becomes less and less important. He’s poured the last half of his life into getting revenge and finding things out, and gotten absolutely nowhere.

“Was?” Stiles asks and looks at his partner then, wondering why the older man keeps using all these past tense terms.

Derek glances around the parking lot and then looks at the boy, “Things change after twelve years. Eventually you start wondering why you do the things you do, once they’ve become habit.” It’s as honest as he’s going to get, but he figures if he answers enough questions then the other agent might actually shut up.

“Then why still do it?” Stiles asks then, because even though Derek had threatened to quit earlier, he knew somehow that the older man had been bluffing.

“Old habits die hard,” Derek says, “If I didn’t have this, then I wouldn’t… I’d be bored.”

“If you didn’t have this then maybe you could actually contribute a little time towards finding a friend of the female variety,” Stiles smiles genuinely, “You know, maybe actually have a family before your balls shrivel up and fall off.”

Derek narrows his brows, “That wouldn’t be the case. It isn’t my **job** that keeps me from making… Familiars. Stop assuming you know or understand me.” In all honesty, if he **didn’t** have the FBI, he wouldn’t have anything at all, he probably wouldn’t even have his sanity.

“Well, to be honest, dude, you’re not really making it easy to get to know you,” Stiles responds, raising his brows at the older man, “If it’s not your job, then what is it? I mean, you gotta wanna settle down, get married and pop out a few kids. Isn’t that like, the American dream or something?”

“I’m sure the American dream is to not have to pay taxes,” Derek responds sarcastically because he’s getting fed up with the boy’s way of thinking, “Either way, I don’t care for it.” He rolls his shoulders and looks away finally, “I’m as settled as I wanna be.”

“The lone bachelor,” Stiles chuckles, “Yeah, I can admire that a little-hey isn’t that her?” He asks, sitting up straighter and leaning more towards the dashboard as he narrows his eyes.

Derek looks at the woman walking around from the back of the hotel and frowns, “That’s her,” He says as he waits, watching the man behind her, but as he expected he doesn’t see a gun in sight, “Ready?”

“Not even remotely,” Stiles answers honestly, but meets Derek with a nervous smile, anyway, “Let’s do it.”

Derek climbs out of the car, leaving the rest of his fries as he pulls on his coat and walks around to the front, straightening his tie before he starts forward. He stares at the target, watching her closely and trying to appear as intimidating as possible as they cross the parking lot.

They’re about five yards away when she looks up, cigarette dropping from her lips as she sees them and turns to run away.

Derek reaches back, grabs his [Glock](https://31.media.tumblr.com/67b57a89fa4c1d35e197bc9ba0fcde02/tumblr_inline_mzxjcv1gP41rniey4.jpg) from it’s holster and bolts after her, “Ashley Franco!” He shouts, passing the guy she was with, “FBI!”

Stiles really should’ve anticipated the suspect to run, considering it’s pretty common, but it catches him off guard at first and when he finally gets with the program, he takes off after them, tailing the guy chasing after Derek as he struggles to get his gun from the shoulder holster, “Footwork on my first day,” He pants as he runs, “This is ridiculous.”

Derek catches up with Ashley quickly, grabbing her arms and forcing her to the ground before someone barrels into him and he turns to knock the man away, “FBI,” He says again and points his gun at the other man, “In case you didn’t hear me the **first** time.”

The girl scrambles for her pant’s leg though, pulling out her own gun and aiming at Derek. He manages to dodge it, just barely, and he turns to her, “Freeze!”

Stiles knocks into the suspect’s alleged boyfriend and they both go tumbling to the ground - but if any one asks him, he’s totally just going to say that he tackled the guy. He points his gun between the man’s eyes and struggles to catch his breath.

“Don’t move,” He says sternly, then glances up at Derek as he rolls the guy to his stomach to handcuff him, “You okay, Hale?”

“Yeah,” Derek says as he helps Ashley to her feet, taking the gun from her as he looks at Stilinski finally, “Check him.” He glances at the man and frowns, “Joel Carbaugh, how about that?”

“Fuck you,” The man says back, practically shaking from head to foot.

Derek puts his gun back in it's holster and finally allows himself to relax, “That’s nice.”

Stiles follows Derek's example once he has the handcuffs in place and pats Joel down, pulling a knife and a little bag of weed from the man’s pocket, “Dimebag and a blade,” He says, grunting as he stands up and bends back down to maneuver the other man to his feet as well.

Derek pats down Ashley as well, but turns up nothing else, guiding her back to the car as he reaches up and checks his ear subconsciously. The last thing he needs is to get shot in the line of duty - having to explain something like that would be difficult. He’s actually impressed with his new partner’s capabilities, considering it’s his first case, but he doesn’t bother saying anything.

Stiles follows his partner back to the vehicle, all but shoving Joel the entire way because the guy seems to want to put up a little bit of a fight. So he doesn’t feel the least bit of remorse when he accidentally hits the other man’s head off the car when he’s ushering him into the backseat.

Derek helps Ashley in beside Joel, closing the door and moving to the front as he glances at the other agent before ducking into his own seat and starting the car.

Stiles does the same and moves to climb into the car as well, not even bothering with his seat belt this time and he wipes a slight sheen of sweat from his forehead, “How long does it usually take you to come down after something like that?” He asks.

“Already down,” Derek says and shrugs, pulling out of their spot, “But after a while that’s expected. You’ll get there.”

“I got cuffed by a fucking baby FBI agent,” Joel mutters in annoyance, “Just my luck.”

Stiles turns a little and smiles at the guy, “Yeah, and doesn’t that just burn your ass?”

“You’re a mouthy little shit,” Joel says as he looks at the kid, “You know, you got a pretty nice mouth, you ever considered using it the right way?”

Stiles chuckles at that and turns back around in his seat, “I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You piece of shit.” He sighs and glances over at Derek, “Am I allowed to call him a piece of shit?” He asks seriously.

Joel chuckles and sits back in his seat, “Just my fuckin’ luck,” He says again.

“You can call him whatever you want,” Derek responds, shaking his head, “I think it’s poetic justice, considering how many agents you’ve put in the hospital,” He glances back at Joel, “It’s his first day.”

Joel frowns and glares at Derek’s back, “An’ he’s your partner, who’d you piss off to get landed with’a baby?”

“First of all, you inbred looking asshole,” Stiles starts and turns back to look at the guy again, voice getting all squeaky from getting so worked up, “This **baby** knocked your ass down. Second of all,” He looks at Derek then, “I’m not incompetent.”

“You caught me off guard, you were _lucky_ ,” Joel says back, “An’ you keep callin’ me names an’ I’ll put **you** in the hospital next.”

“Don’t let him bother you, it’s words.”

“Aww, you taking care of your partner now?” Joel comments in a whiny tone, “Gonna hold the boy’s dick while he’s takin’ a piss too?”

“If you don’t shut your mouth,” Derek glances back, “I’ll do it for you.”

“You wouldn’t,” Joel says and chuckles, “You’re about the only agent that wouldn’t. All talk for a man that big, God wasted his time makin’ you that big an’ keepin’ your balls.”

“He’s probably just jealous he doesn’t look like a brick wall of muscle,” Stiles informs Derek flippantly, otherwise ignoring the ignorant asshole in the backseat.

Ashley rolls her eyes and stares out the window, “Are you three done with your pissing contest yet?”

Derek doesn’t respond, there’s literally nothing Joel could say that could **actually** get to him, balls included. He speaks a little lower to Stilinski, though, “They like it when you talk back, it’s best not to give them the time of day unless you can help it. Perps will do just about anything to piss you off and get you upset.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that,” Stiles grins and nods, adrenaline still pumping through him, “We got ‘em, though. This means paperwork, right?”

“A lot more than I’d like to admit,” Derek says honestly, “We’ve been after Carbaugh for a while now.” He shrugs and wets his lips, “Most of our work **is** paperwork.”

“Great,” Stiles says sarcastically, even though it’s not really that big a deal to him.

“Most jobs won’t be over that quickly.”

“So, you’re basically just bursting my bubble and confirming that Billy-Bob in the backseat was right,” Stiles raises his brows, “I just got lucky. Thanks, Hale.”

“ **We** got lucky,” Derek responds, “It’s all about how every person involved reacts and responds, it could’ve been anyone.”

“Wouldn’t really kill you to say ‘Good job, Stilinski. You’re not the inept rookie I thought you to be’,” Stiles says dryly, convincing himself that he’s **not** fishing for compliments - really, he’s not - but a little acknowledgment would be nice.

Derek frowns and tightens his hold on the steering wheel, “Next time we approach a perp, or perps, anticipate chasing them down. If I was anyone else, I could’ve been shot and killed. And it’s your job as my **partner** to have my back.”

“And now you’re busting my balls even more, dude,” Stiles flails a little, “What the Hell? You’re alive, I count that as a win.”

“A gun was shot within two feet of an agent,” Derek says back, “The bullet nearly hit me, it’s **not** a win,” He looks at the younger man, “You should be your strongest critic on the field, Stilinski, not me.”

Stiles wants to whip out some kind of smart ass remark, but he keeps his mouth shut and huffs out a heavy breath. He’s really not taking things as seriously as he should be, especially considering this is his dream job.

“You got good people skills there, Agent Hale,” Joel speaks up suddenly, smiling as he watches the backs of the two men in the front.

“Shut up, Carbaugh,” Derek says back.

“See, that’s my point,” Joel responds, “Maybe if you worked on that some, you might have a personal life outside of watching motel rooms and getting your partners killed.”

Stiles wouldn’t really pay Joel any mind, but what the guy says catches his attention and he furrows his brows in confusion and looks at Derek. He doesn’t straight out ask, though, because it’s not really the time to bring up something like that in front of the perps.

“Why are you trying to push my buttons, Carbaugh?” Derek asks rhetorically, “I don’t have buttons. So shut your fucking mouth already.”

Joel doesn’t respond back, just smirks and settles into his seat as he watches the senior agent.


	2. The Rumor Mill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't yet, we still ask that you please read [THIS](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/private/74003355410/tumblr_mzpxlv83ba1rxjbyo) before reading on, at least the summary version up top.

Stiles rips into the bag of Doritos with enthusiasm as he plops down into a seat next to Scott, the perps booked and out of sight, but he still feels kind of high on the adrenaline. It’s not necessarily a bad feeling, though, and he hopes he never ends up like agent Hale - a senior agent who doesn’t have passion for what he does anymore.

“You should’ve seen me, dude. I mean, I tackled the guy and we went barreling down,” Stiles explains somewhat excitedly, “It was crazy.”

“That sounds awesome, bro,” Scott responds, enthralled for his best friend, “Still can’t believe you got partnered with Hale.”

“Me either, really,” Stiles says and crunches on a chip, “He’s not very nice, kinda grumpy.”

“Others call him Agent Hell for a reason,” Lydia says as she flips through her book, looking for the spot she’d left off, “I feel sorry for you.”

“ **I** feel sorry for me, Lyds,” Stiles gestures vaguely to himself and shoves his hand in the bag for another chip, “If I had any common sense, I’d probably fear for my life any time I’m around the guy.”

“He’s not that bad,” Scott chimes in, frowning slightly as he looks between Stiles and Lydia, “Just because he doesn’t talk a lot and tends to have more bad days than good doesn’t make him a horrible person.”

Lydia rolls her eyes at her husband, “You’re only defending him because he accidentally saved your life like… Twice, I think it was, right? That doesn’t mean he **isn’t** horrible.”

Stiles chomps down on his chips and nods along to what Lydia’s saying, agreeing with her every word.

Scott leans forward on the table and slides his foot up next to hers under it, “He’s not horrible,” He insists, smiling softly at his wife, “When have you ever known me to be a bad judge of character?”

“All of the time?” Lydia asks rhetorically, “You’d trust anyone before judging them, and you can’t even try to deny that.”

“I **can** deny that,” Scott says and looks at Stiles then, nudging Lydia’s ankle gently with his foot, “She’s wrong, man, she’s so wrong.” He looks back at her then, “You’re wrong. He’s a good agent, people around the office are always just giving the guy a bad rep.”

Lydia sighs and shakes her head, “If he was a **good** agent, Boyd would still be alive, wouldn’t he now? I’ve looked at the case, it’s… It raises questions about the man’s legitimacy.”

“Lydia,” Scott says disapprovingly and frowns at his wife, not really bothering to say anything else, because if he knows Stiles the way he thinks he does, then his best friend is going to take her words and run with them.

“Uh,” Stiles clears his throat and shakes his head a little, eyes wide, “If he’s my partner, I’d really like to think the guy’s a good agent, because if he’s not, then I could totally-wait, who’s Boyd?” He asks them, “I’ve heard his name like two or three times today, I'm pretty sure it was his old partner… What happened?”

“He _was_ Derek’s old partner,” Lydia explains, “Key word: was. He was killed during a routine investigation, found with a bullet in his chest - from Derek’s gun.”

She smiles and crosses her arms, “There were a lot of other things that came up, fingerprints, Derek wasn’t there at the time, or so he says,” Lydia looks at Scott, “I don’t understand why you’re defending him, he’s dirty.”

“The only dirty agent in this entire bureau is Whittemore,” Scott continues to defend agent Hale, “Hale isn’t dirty, he just gets dealt a lot of shit. He and Boyd were partners for eleven years, you don’t just up and shoot someone you’ve been that close to.”

“That seriously is a long time,” Stiles muses and he’s pretty sure he can feel a headache taking root over all of this, “And he seems… Reserved about discussing his former partner with me, but I dunno if it’s because he’s got something to hide or if he’s grieving.”

“He’s grieving, in his own way,” Scott says before Lydia can say anything, “They weren’t just partners, they were best friends. Boyd was practically Hale’s **only** friend.”

Lydia nods, “That’s exactly my point. No friends, no family, he’s closer to his car than he is anyone else in this entire building. The man has ‘dirty’ written all over him. The only other person as cut off as he is works as a blood spatter analyst in Miami, Florida.”

“I know you’re not comparing my new partner to Dexter Morgan, Lyds,” Stiles says seriously, “That’s not funny.”

“Probably not, but neither is everything that happens around Hale,” Lydia responds in a singsong voice, looking at Scott as she shrugs, “I didn’t like him for years, and then that whole thing happened with Jennifer, and-there’s no reason whatsoever to feel the need to defend him when he’s done nothing to deserve it.”

“Why are you so vindictive?” Scott asks and he’s still frowning at Lydia, “I know that you’ve got more than all that hatred bottled up inside. You’re capable of seeing the good in people. I mean, you’ve been married to me for six years.”

Stiles rolls his eyes at the two of them and leans closer, because he wants to get back into the juicy stuff, “You said something about not having any family? What’s the deal?”

Lydia shrugs, making a face, “I dunno, there’s never really been any hard proof about all of it, but most of his family went up in flames about twenty years ago. He had a sister that lived through it, but she was murdered a while afterwards, or ‘killed by a rabid animal’, and his uncle vanished.”

She shakes her head, “I don’t get how a guy with that much suspicious activity around him hasn’t been looked at yet.”

“Maybe because he’s not guilty,” Scott supplies calmly, then turns more towards Stiles, “Don’t listen to any rumors you hear about him, because nine times out of ten, it’s not gonna be true. Hale isn’t a bad guy, he’s just seriously rough around the edges.”

“Unlike your wife, man, I trust your judgment,” Stiles responds and smiles at Scott, even though he’s incredibly uneasy about being Hale’s partner now.

“Please,” Lydia sighs and sips her Diet Coke, “He’s had how many relationships since I started here? Like… Two? Two relationships in five years. Look into him before you consider relaxing around the guy,” She says as she looks at Stiles, “You shouldn’t trust him, there’s a reason he’s unpopular.”

Stiles kind of wishes Lydia wouldn’t have mentioned looking into Derek, because now he knows the urge is going to eat away at him until he does, “Being unpopular doesn’t make you evil, nor does the lack of a steady relationship. I am literally walking proof of at least one of those things.”

Lydia frowns as Derek walks into the break area and she gives Stiles a pointed look, “Look into Boyd’s death, too,” She swallows when Derek looks at her, but she ignores him, “Just because they knew one another for a while doesn’t mean a thing, the guy doesn’t care about **anyone**.”

Stiles eyes widen, because he knew Lydia could be bold, but talking about the guy while he’s literally within earshot is a little tactless. He can’t even properly respond to her, and all he manages out is a weak nod, then he glances at his partner and swallows guiltily.

Lydia smiles sweetly and brushes her foot against Scott’s, “I’m gonna go read at my desk,” She says as she stands up and walks passed Derek, “Hale,” She says in acknowledgement.

Derek nods and holds the door for her before walking to Stiles and Scott, “Paperwork for the next two days,” He takes a seat and shakes his head, “It’s boring, but it’s safe,” He looks at Stiles, “You still have to file your report on the events during the stakeout.”

“Right,” Stiles says numbly and continues to stare at Derek, completely unsure of how much the guy heard, “I should probably go do that,” He nods and looks at Scott, voice softening, “Hey, bud, are all four of us still on for dinner this weekend?”

“Definitely,” Scott nods at his friend, “Lydia would be pissed if she went all out and you guys didn’t show up.”

“Alright, cool,” Stiles stands up quickly and winces when the chair scrapes against the flooring, “I’m just-I’m gonna go do the thing-the uh, the paperwork,” He says then, nodding at Derek before hauling ass back to his desk.

Derek watches Stilinski leave and frowns, one thing’s for sure… He can definitely clear a room. He looks at Scott for a moment in silence before standing and following after his partner.

“Hey, Hale,” Scott calls out in order to catch agent Hale’s attention as he stands up as well, moving slowly to the older man.

He’s unsure of how much the guy heard, but he feels like he has to say something, regardless, “I may be married to Martin, but she doesn’t speak for me,” He says seriously, making sure the other agent knows as much before he heads back to his own desk.

Derek doesn’t bother responding, his hands tightening into fists as he presses his lips together and nods to himself. He’s not an idiot, he’s heard everything they’ve said, and it’s kind of nice to know that at least **one** person thinks he’s not a complete waste of space; regardless of how wrong they might be.

* * *

Derek sits across from his partner, calling up leads and taking notes in an otherwise silence for the better part of the morning, showing him the slow build of every typical morning before he finishes up and stands from his seat, “We can probably get in a few interviews before lunch, are you ready?”

“As I’m gonna be,” Stiles responds and sits his paperwork aside, as well as the two different files he shouldn’t be looking at, but he makes sure to lay them under the stack so Derek won’t find them. The last thing he needs is for his new, severely unstable partner to figure out that Stiles is putting his nose where it doesn’t belong.

Derek grabs his holster, his coat, and his keys before taking the manila folder from his desk, “I should’ve taken you on **this** kind of a case yesterday." _It’s still not safe, but it’s safer._

“Yesterday wasn’t so bad,” Stiles shrugs and picks his holster up off of his desk before standing, pulling it on before grabbing his jacket, “You know, aside from the fact that I acted like a complete rookie.”

“That’s typical, considering you **are** a rookie,” Derek responds and walks passed the other agent, “But I also acted negligent, taking you along for something more serious than you were prepared for, and I’m not a rookie.”

“Mistakes were made all around, then,” Stiles shrugs and follows after Derek, waiting until they’re in the elevator to give him a serious, yet inquisitive look, “People make mistakes,” He says, trying to gauge the senior agent’s reaction.

“Not in this line of work,” Derek says as he holds his things firmly in his right hand, “In this line of work, when you make a mistake, you get people killed.”

“So I’ve heard,” Stiles says calmly as he wonders if there’s some kind of double meaning behind the older man’s words.

“So Scott told you about my partner, then, I take it?” Derek asks, even though he already knows.

“I asked,” Stiles owns up to it and shrugs, “It’s not like you would’ve told me.”

“It’s not like it’s your business,” Derek responds back and walks out of the elevator doors once they open, “He was **my** partner, why do you think you have a right to ask questions about it?”

Stiles follows after the older man, “Because I’m your **new** partner, Hale,” He says, “I think that entitles me to a little more knowledge other than your former partner’s name.”

Derek turns and stares down at Stilinski, narrowing his brows, “My life isn’t an FBI case assigned to you, and my partner’s death isn’t, either. It was before your time, and it’s not your job to go digging around into other people’s business.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Stiles says, standing his ground against Derek as he stares up at him sternly, “Considering you’re my partner now and people seem to think that that’s gonna get me killed, it **is** my job to dig, and I’ll do as I damn well please.”

“The ethics of your job haven’t been made as clear as they should’ve,” Derek says as he crosses his arms over his chest, “Out of respect for a fellow agent, we don’t **dig** into each other’s personal lives, that includes previous partners - whether you feel entitled to or not."

"Doing so results in an unsettled relationship between partners. It’s the same in any other situation, friends, wives, husbands - your partner in the FBI deserves that amount of personal respect from you, just as well.”

“Do you **know** what people say about you around here?” Stiles asks suddenly, narrowing his brows as he keeps his eyes locked with Derek’s, “They say you’re the reason your partner was killed, some of them even think you did it. And I’m sure you can understand with my being your new partner and all, I have a few concerns, because I sure as Hell don’t wanna end up dead on your watch.”

“I’ve been working here with **these** people for longer than you can imagine, Stilinski,” Derek says, raising his brows as his nostrils flare, “ _Years_ \- and all of this you think you’ve managed to hear in just **one** day. You have no idea what they say about me behind my back, you have this tiny, insignificant idea of how it is, and you’re already listening to them."

"You’re an FBI agent for a reason, why are you acting like a mindless, thoughtless drone? Are you unable to come to your own conclusions? Instead, you’d rather be convinced you should be concerned for your well-being because of what people around you ‘say’?”

“I don’t know anything about you,” Stiles says back, shaking his head, “So if wanting to be safe and looking into you makes me a 'mindless, thoughtless drone'… Then so be it."

"I’m not supposed to look into your past out of respect?” Stiles asks, raising his brows incredulously, “You don’t have my respect yet, big guy.”

“You don’t have mine **either** ,” Derek responds, “I don’t know a thing about you. I’ve heard people say things as well, probably more than **you’d** be comfortable with. You don’t have a clue what they say about you, but people talk. And out of a respect that you still haven’t earned, even now that I know you’ve been looking into me, I haven’t looked into you.” He turns then, walking to his car as calmly as possible.

“I wouldn’t really give two shits if you did,” Stiles says as he follows after his partner, somewhat infuriated with the man, “I’m not the one who allegedly got my last partner killed.”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I did some digging?” Derek looks at Stilinski as he opens his door, “If I read about how your mother passed away? If I started asking **you** questions about her? You wouldn’t mind that? It’s been years. My partner died a couple weeks ago and you already feel like you deserve to look into that and start asking around about it.”

“How fucking dense are you?” Stiles asks and it damn near comes out as a shout, “My being your partner, by association, gives me every right to look into it. Even if it’s only to clear my conscious and ease the worry that you’ll end up shooting me in the chest. My mother has nothing to do with this, you prick.”

Derek clenches his jaw as he watches the younger man for a moment, “You might wanna exhume the body, as well, just to be _sure_ that all the facts in the files are just as they say. Or you could’ve **asked** me, once you started hearing rumors, instead of going behind my back like it’s some dirty secret you’ve heard gossip about and are too embarrassed to actually ask the _only person_ involved that’s affected by it on a personal level.”

Stiles places his palms on top of the car and narrows his eyes at Derek, trying to keep himself from letting this asshole get him all worked up, “Fine,” He says, “Did you kill Boyd?” He asks plainly, raising his brows at the other agent.

“You’re the one looking at the evidence, you tell me,” Derek responds and climbs into the car finally.

Stiles draws his hand back and is about to hit the hood of the car before he calms himself down, and barely taps the metal with a clenched fist before he opens the passenger side door and climbs in. If Derek doesn’t want to tell him, then he **will** dig and he **will** find the fucking truth.

Derek settles the folder by his seat and stuffs his coat into the back as he waits, glancing at the younger man before rolling his eyes and starting the car.

It’s bad enough having a virgin FBI agent for a partner, but now he has one that doesn’t trust him and goes behind his back to try and figure out his legitimacy. Unfortunately, Derek’s patience for easing people into a comfort zone with him ran out about twenty years ago.

“What all _have_ you heard about me, so far?”

“Are you going to confirm or deny any of it or will I just be talking to talk?” Stiles asks in response and looks at his partner.

“Depends what you’ve heard,” Derek says honestly, though it doesn’t matter. The boy clearly likes to hear himself talk, so he doubts it’ll make much difference either way.

“You’re a loner,” Stiles starts, “And tragedy pretty much follows you everywhere you go. I’ve heard that you lost your family, heard that some people even think you did it. Namely the same people that believe you killed Boyd.”

He swallows nervously, “Care to clear any of that up?”

“I don’t really feel like I need to justify myself to you or any of the other self-righteous agents in the FBI,” Derek says dismissively, “It happened over twenty years ago, I’ve learned to live with it. No matter what I say, people will believe what they **want** to believe. Is that all you’ve heard?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Stiles nods, “You’re not very well liked, just in general. I dunno how I got so lucky,” He says dryly.

“All you’ve heard is tame,” Derek mutters as he takes a right, “It’s nothing compared to what I’ve heard. You think you can learn everything there is to know about a person in just one day? That you know how people feel about me just from talking to a handful of people? Wait a bit longer."

"Wait until they start telling you about all of the different ways they think I’ve killed every person I’ve been in a relationship with, or how I’m a monster, or how everyone hates me, and how the day gets worse when they realize I don’t take time off. I’m aware of what they say,” He looks at Stilinski, “They say it **all** , all of the time. Sometimes they actually say it to my face.”

“Like Lydia,” Stiles says numbly and remembers everything Scott said, and after hearing the older agent say all of that, he kind of feels shitty that he’s been passing judgment without knowing all the facts.

“I’m sorry,” He says then, looking back at Derek, “I’ll withhold judgment until I figure you out.”

“No, you won’t,” Derek says and looks away, “You’re human. You’ll judge regardless. The more you hear, the more you’ll believe, like everyone else. I don’t need your pities or your sympathies, or your apologies. I feel just as sorry for you as everyone else does. You’re the one stuck with ‘Agent Hell’, 'that crazy asshole that murdered his partner of eleven years in cold blood'.”

“The human mind is influential, but I’m not like everyone else,” Stiles tells him, shrugging it off, “So think what you wanna think. I'll figure you out, and until then, I’ll lighten up on you a little…”

He side glances the older man, “But even if it turns out you’re not guilty, you’ll still be an asshole.”

“You’re not like everyone else,” Derek nods and stops at the red light, “I guess someone that’s not like everyone else still goes and reads the personal files on my family case, and my partner’s case, right in front of me.”

“Yeah, but you see, the difference between me and everyone else who snoops in your files,” Stiles says, looking at the other agent, “Is that I’m not looking at them for the gory details, I’m looking at them to try and clear your fucking name.”

Derek narrows his brows, “My name **is** cleared, the only one that keeps putting it back in in **any** aspect of the word is gossip. There’s nothing to solve about them. There’s no single human being that can be pointed at and accused - except for me. The only one you’re clearing is yourself, for believing the things that other people say.”

“Your name may be cleared literally, but you might as well be rotting in a jail cell for all the things people say about you,” Stiles doesn’t take his eyes from the larger man, “So no, you’re name isn’t _really_ cleared, not yet.”

“Is that **actually** how your head works?” Derek asks rhetorically, “I point at a person, I say they’re a witch, therefore they’re a witch?”

“That’s not at all the point I’m trying to make,” Stiles argues, “Can you honestly tell me that you don’t feel condemned to a lifetime of misery over what people think about you? That’s all I’m saying, Hale.”

“My life isn’t your case to solve, that’s all **I’m** saying, Stilinski,” Derek says in annoyance as he turns into the left lane, “Even if there was some magical, mystical force that solved both those cases completely and proved my innocence beyond a doubt to every single person in the FBI, I’d still be who I am. People don’t care, and it wouldn’t make a difference. It wouldn’t change anything.”

“Yeah, well, I guess we’ll see,” Stiles says dismissively, stubbornly determined to get to the bottom of everything.

Derek sighs and wets his lips as he glances at the other agent, “Those files have been looked over a million times before, not just by me and Agent Martin, but by every other person in the FBI. There’s nothing in them that you’re gonna see that everyone before you hasn’t already seen. They’re stale cases, there’s nothing more to them.”

“You sound like someone who’s guilty, Hale,” Stiles informs him and shrugs, “If you’re innocent, then stop trying to tell me how old and stale the cases are. Just let me do what I’m good at and shut the fuck up.”

“I sound like someone that’s been ostracized by every single one of his peers,” Derek responds, “And now by the rookie, and for **once** I’d like a little bit of respect, instead of having you poking and prodding at everything left that **actually** matters to me.”

“If you want my respect, maybe you should try not being a withdrawn, brooding asslick,” Stiles says, “I’m actually not this rude of a person, but you’ve been rude to me since I started, so it’s all you’re going to get in return until you can prove you’re actually capable of communicating like a normal, functioning member of society. I’m not prodding to piss you off or upset you, maybe you should give **me** a little more credit.”

Derek presses his lips together for a moment and shakes his head, “I’ll give you credit when you deserve it. So far the only thing you’ve shown me is how childish you are, and how easily manipulated you can be by other people. And the fact that you think it’s morally acceptable to join others when there’s someone amongst you that differs from the rest."

"You say you’re not like others, but I’m not convinced. As far as I’ve seen, you’re just as bad. You feel just as entitled, and you handle it just as indiscreetly as the rest. The only difference is that, most of them, it took a few years to actually show such blatant disrespect; and it took you about… Three hours.”

“Are you done now?” Stiles asks flatly, “Because this is how things are going to go from now on, okay? You don’t like me and you think I’m a young, impressionable agent who wants to believe all the hoopla. I don’t like you either, but it’s not so much because of what I heard, it’s more because you’re probably the single most rudest person I’ve ever met in my life, and that’s golden coming from me. But we’re partners, whether we like it or not, and contrary to what you might think, I don’t come to work to bitch and argue with you, it’s not in my job description."

"So we’re gonna put the bullshit aside and play nice while we’re on the clock, sound good?” He asks, “Or are you unable to be civil?”

“It’s not in your job description to go behind your partner’s back and start reading through their files, either, but you’ve spent four hours doing that this morning,” Derek says and raises his brows, “Go ahead, do what you want, read it over fifty times - the moment I get you assigned to someone else, I won’t have to sit there and watch you stare at the charred corpses of my parents. Until then, just shut the fuck up about it and do it on your own time.”

“I will,” Stiles informs him and does his solid best not to frown at the fact that the older agent is going to try and get him reassigned to someone else, “So who are we interviewing?” He asks, as if they haven’t been tugging at one another’s hair this whole time.

“Family and friends on a few fresh cases,” Derek says coldly, “It’s boring, and we aren’t likely to learn anything we don’t already know, but it’s procedure.”

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Stiles asks curiously, because he’s got plans tonight, and he’d really like to know if he needs to be cancelling them.

Derek shrugs, “It could take any amount of time, depends on what we learn, and if leads turn up other leads. Sometimes it only takes a couple hours, sometimes it takes days.”

“Oh, well that’s…” Stiles sighs and pulls his phone from his pocket, “That’s great, Lydia’s gonna have my balls for cancelling on her.” He sends Scott a text message, letting him know that he might not be able to make it, because he’d rather deal with his buddy than take the brunt of Lydia’s wrath.

Derek doesn’t respond, he’s learned over time working with the FBI that having a relationship outside of it, if you’re the kind of person that even **slightly** enjoys your work, becomes practically impossible.

Most can’t drop everything and go home without taking some of it with them. That’s how his last relationship went, it probably didn’t help that he wasn’t communicative in the slightest, and about the only _good_ thing they had in common was sex; even if it hadn't been the work that got in the way, though, her future plans differing from his own certainly did.

Stiles sends the text and looks up at Derek then, quirking a curious eyebrow, “You said friends and family of newer cases? What kinda cases are we talking about?”

“One of the cases is in Indianapolis, a bank robber,” Derek says as he drives, “Another agent learned that the perp had leads here, so it’s our job to question them. Every once in a while there’s a case like that, something we won’t be directly involved with. The rest are drug related,” He sighs and shakes his head, “Most of the time it’s drug related.”

“That’s shitty,” Stiles shakes his head, “You ever done drugs before?” He asks idly, trying to shoot for casual conversation, “I mean, you’re what, thirty-six? You’ve probably had at least one or two bad trips in your time, yeah?”

“No,” Derek says back, frowning, “The closest I’ve come to taking drugs is caffeine. Though…” He glances at Stiles, “When you handle as many drug busts as I have, you do get familiar with what they’re like, what they smell like, what they taste like.”

Stiles nods thoughtfully, “Okay, so no drugs… What about alcohol, you drink any?”

“No,” Derek says again, and he doesn’t bother to elaborate. Half of the time, the taste alone is something he can get from nearly a mile away from an opened bottle, so having it up close is miserable. Most don’t even like the taste, as far as he knows the point of the stuff is to get drunk, and he can’t.

“Are you allergic to fun altogether?” Stiles asks then, because it’s kind of difficult imagining a man Derek’s age who doesn’t like a cold beer after a long day at work, “What do you even do, man - go to work, then go home?”

Derek sighs in annoyance, “I workout, that’s about it. Why is it so important to you that I do things people you know do?”

“It’s not important, I just think you’re a little peculiar is all,” Stiles shrugs and ignores the senior agent’s annoyed tone, “I dunno if you’ve looked in the mirror lately, but you could afford to skip a workout or two. You should come out with me and Scott some time and have a beer, it wouldn’t kill you.”

“No,” Derek says firmly as he parks outside of the first condo on the left side of the complex he’s pulled into and he looks at Stilinski, “I can barely stand you at work, why are you trying to convince me to meet up with you outside of it?”

“Me **and** Scott, and you **can** tolerate him, I’m pretty sure of it - considering you’ve saved his life like, twice now,” Stiles stares back, “Maybe you and I can actually get along in a different environment, one not so work related.”

“I saved his life because I’m a decent person, not because I can tolerate him,” Derek says and rolls his eyes, “If he was agent Whittemore, or Argent, I would’ve done the same. If he was a person I’d never met before, I would’ve done the same. And just because I don’t hate him doesn’t make up for my dislike for you.” He reaches back for his coat and climbs out of the car, pulling it on as he glances around the condos.

Stiles climbs out as well and checks his holster instinctively, “Sue me for trying to improve our work relationship,” He says, slamming his door closed, “What happened to playing nice, anyway?”

“If you’ve been listening to your peers, you should know that this is as nice as I play,” Derek responds as he locks the car and walks around to the front, “We’ve got a bit of time before lunch, let’s just get as much done while we can.”

This time Stiles sighs at Derek instead of it being the other way around, infinitely peeved that the older man doesn’t at least want to try and form some kind of bond. Partners should **have** a bond, they need to learn to trust one another, otherwise it’s kind of pointless and, more than likely, one or both of them will end up dead.

“Fine,” He grits out, giving up hope on the guy for now, “Whatever.”

  
[MageStiles](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/) ϟ [Sparklinski](http://sparklinski.tumblr.com/)  



	3. Taking Work Home

Stiles knows that when he clocks out of work, he should leave everything at the office, but he still can’t stop his mind from wandering. It’s slowly getting to the point to where he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it and the only thing that makes him realize that he’s went off on some mental tangent, is when he looks over to the passenger side seat and notices the casserole dish in Heather’s lap.

It brings him back to reality quickly enough and he furrows his brows at her, but returns his attention back to the road, “Why did you bring a casserole?” He asks dumbly.

Heather sighs and watches Stiles in concern, “I’ve told you at least twice already. I felt weird going to dinner without making something to add to it. I called Lydia last night… You were sitting **right** beside me when I talked to her about making it.”

“Oh," Stiles breathes out and feels marginally guilty for spacing out so much, “I'm kinda surprised she agreed to it, she’s kind of a control freak.”

He tightens his hands on the steering column and stops at the last red light before Scott’s and Lydia’s, “You at least made the chicken casserole, right? Not the tuna.”

“It’s tuna,” Heather says, narrowing her brows, “I asked you which you wanted last night and you said it didn’t matter, so I made tuna, because I didn’t wanna go out and get the ingredients. Honestly, Stiles, it’s like in one ear, out the other.”

“I hear you,” Stiles informs her, trying not to take offense as he glances over at her, “I’ve just been… Distracted because of work, okay? I would’ve went out for the ingredients and shit last night, all you had to do was ask.”

He sighs and taps the gas pedal gently, “Can’t believe you made the tuna, who brings **tuna** to a dinner?”

Heather glares at Stiles then, “Well, next time you can make the fucking casserole,” She says as she turns and looks out her window, “Keep complaining about it and you’ll be wearing it.”

Stiles clenches his jaw and continues to drive in silence until they arrive at Scott’s. He parks and cuts the engine, but before Heather can open her door and storm away, Stiles stops her by grabbing her arm gently.

“Baby, wait,” He says, frowning guiltily, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get that way. I shouldn’t be taking anything out on you.”

Looking down to the casserole dish, he shrugs and meets her eyes again, “I’m sure it’ll be good, it’s thoughtful of you to even bring something.”

Heather watches him for a moment and then pulls away, “Yeah, it is,” She agrees and opens her door, climbing out and holding the casserole firmly in her hands as she pushes her door closed with her hip.

Stiles shakes his head to himself and climbs out as well, pocketing his car keys before joining her, placing his hand at the small of her back as they walk together up the walkway to the house. He apologized, granted, he probably could’ve been a little more insistent and sincere, but if she still wants to be upset with him then that’s fine, too.

Normally the hand on her would make Heather get excited and tingly, and she’d want to lean in against him, but this time it’s just annoying and she has half a mind to tell him to **not**. She knows he’s getting into his work too much, and she’d anticipated as much, but it hasn’t even been a week and she’s already becoming wary.

She looks at Stiles and leans in to press a quick kiss to his cheek before reaching out to ring the doorbell.

Stiles smiles weakly at the small press of her lips to his cheek, hand moving mindlessly from her back the moment he hears Scott barreling excitedly towards the door to let them in.

Scott throws the front door open and smiles wide at the both of them, moving to sling his arms around Heather first, then Stiles as he ushers them inside, “So glad you guys could make it, Lydia’s been busting her ass over this dinner.”

“I almost **didn’t** , had interviews out of my ass,” Stiles tells him as they all walk into the kitchen, smiling wider when Heidi comes bolting into the kitchen with her arms extended, yelling: “Uncle Stiles! Uncle Stiles!”

Stiles chuckles and sweeps her off of her feet, slinging her up onto his shoulders before glancing at Heather, “Just sit it down on the counter.”

Heather walks in, watching Stiles and Heidi for a moment before she moves to the counter and sets the casserole down. She turns back, crossing her arms loosely as she looks at them again, “She’s getting so big.”

“You’re not kidding,” Stiles agrees and grunts as he pulls her back down from his shoulders, her little legs kicking as she giggles and he ruffles her hair after sitting her down.

“It’s been months since you guys have seen her,” Scott moves around the kitchen and side steps Lydia with a hand to her waist, pressing a quick kiss to her neck, “Tell ‘em, babe, they need to come around more often.”

“You need to come around more often,” Lydia says, smiling at the feeling of her husband’s lips and she turns to look at him, “You need to start bribing him, I’m sure you know a good enough weak spot to convince him to come over **every** weekend.”

Heather looks back at Lydia and Scott and clears her throat, “Is there any way I could get a drink?” She asks, trying not to respond to Lydia’s comment the way she wants to.

Scott’s about to respond to Lydia, but he looks at Heather instead and nods, smiling politely at her, “Yeah, sure, what do you want? We have…” He pauses and moves to the fridge, opening it up to list off things, “Water, tea, kool-aid, orange juice, beer, and wine.”

“A beer would be nice,” Heather says at once, watching Lydia and smiling weakly, “You been cooking all day?”

“Since last night,” Lydia responds and looks back at Scott, “Could you make me a glass of tea, baby?”

Scott pulls three beers out with one hand, the necks of the bottles between his fingers as he moves to sit them down on the counter before grinning dopily at his wife, “Sure thing,” He says, grabbing the tea pitcher and a glass from the cabinet. After pouring her a glass, he sits it next to the stove where she’s been at practically all day.

Stiles rolls his eyes at the affectionate way Scott looks at Lydia and grabs one of the beers his buddy set out, popping the top off of it before taking a long drawl, “What’s the big occasion, anyway?” He asks Lydia.

“Oh, nothing big,” Lydia says and looks at Stiles, grinning before she turns to Scott, “Did you wanna tell them? Or should I?”

Heather raises her brows, “Tell us what?”

Scott practically vibrates with happiness as he moves up behind Lydia, resting his chin on her shoulder as he reaches around and rubs her stomach, “We’re having another baby!” He says enthusiastically, smiling wide at his friend and his girlfriend.

“Oh,” Heather says in surprise, eyes widening, “Wow, congrats. That’s… Wow.”

Lydia smiles wider and covers Scott’s hand with her own, “I know, I kind of wanted you two to be the first to know,” She licks her lips and looks between them, “When are you two gonna start making babies? Come on, I kind of want them to be close in age, right?”

“Uh,” Stiles pales a little at the question. He’s seriously excited for his friends, couldn’t possibly be any happier, but Lydia kinda throws him off with the inquisition, “Um,” He glances at Heather nervously, then looks back at Lydia and shrugs, “I dunno-I dunno if babies are in our future, Lyds.”

Lydia frowns and looks between them again, “Uh, you’re kidding, right?” She turns to Scott in confusion, “I thought we talked about this before Heidi.”

Heather sighs and sips her beer, giving Stiles a pointed look, “Yeah, somewhere around there.”

“What are you two talking about?” Stiles asks and grimaces as he takes another swig of his beer, “You two talked about what?”

“Scott knows, don’t you, honey?” Lydia asks as she smiles slightly, watching her husband, “I told you about it right after,” She turns to Stiles then, “Me and Heather wanted to have ours together, or at least around the same times, you two never talked to each other about it?”

“I brought it up,” Heather says and shrugs, “We just got… Busy.”

“I don’t remember you bringing it up,” Stiles says, looking intently at Heather, “I think I’d remember you bringing up something like **babies** ,” He says and frowns a little at the idea. He loves kids, but usually only when they’re not his own and he’s not sure if he’s at a point in his life where he wants any.

“Maybe you just forgot, dude,” Scott chimes in, trying to be helpful as he stays close to Lydia.

“Oh well,” Lydia says dismissively, “We’ve got time, I’m pretty sure Scott wouldn’t mind having a couple more,” She looks at her husband suggestively and rubs her thumb over the back of his hand.

“You want more kids?” Scott asks wistfully and slowly begins to smile at Lydia before attacking the side of her face with kisses, “God, I love you,” He says, tightening his arms around her more.

“Ugh, please,” Stiles feigns to cover his eyes and swipes his beer off of the counter, “My eyes,” He complains and meanders out of the kitchen, wanting to get as far away from the awkwardness as possible.

“If you really loved me,” Lydia tries to say between giggles, “You’d help me finish setting the table.”

Heather frowns and takes her beer as well, following after her boyfriend. She’s not sure if they’re this bad at work, but it feels awkward watching them practically go at it in front of the stove.

“Anything for you,” Scott says dramatically and moves to grab the plates from the cabinet, setting them all out before doing the same with silverware, returning to the kitchen once more to grab dishes of food.

Stiles watches his friend in amusement and mouths out the word ‘whipped’, beer in his hand and hanging loosely to his side. Something like that shouldn’t really be so foreign to him, but it is, and he’s not sure if he’s the one at fault or Heather is as well.

Lydia follows after Scott with the casserole last, setting it down and motioning for the others to take their seats as she offers her hand to Heidi and helps her up into her chair before sitting down, “We really need to do this more often.”

“Yeah,” Scott agrees and takes his seat next to Lydia, “It’s always nice actually having you guys over. This whole 'being an adult' thing is for the birds, I miss hanging out.”

“I’ll second that,” Heather says and smiles, “I’m pretty sure I spent the better part of puberty wanting to be a grown up, who knew that’d be a bust?”

“I dunno, I don’t think it’s so bad,” Stiles shrugs and opts for the seat next to Heidi, smiling down at her before glancing briefly at everyone else, “I mean, yeah, sure, I miss hanging out too. But being able to do what you want kinda has it’s perks.”

“We pretty much hang out now anyways,” Lydia says and smiles at Stiles, “At work, at least,” She looks at Heather, “ **Someone** needs to become an FBI agent.”

“I hate that stuff,” Heather says as she shakes her head and finally takes her own seat, “Too much gore for me.”

“Most of it’s paperwork, actually,” Lydia responds, raising her brows in surprise.

“Speaking of paperwork,” Stiles says and reaches out to start piling food onto his plate, glancing up at Lydia, “I’ve been looking into Hale like you told me to and it-a lot of it doesn’t really make a whole lot of sense,” He says, shaking his head to himself.

Heather rolls her eyes and grabs the bowl of mashed potatoes.

“What about it doesn’t make sense?” Lydia asks curiously, “I’ll be the first to agree that a lot of it is **shady** , but that’s the point.”

“Well,” Stiles isn’t really sure if he should bring up certain things or not, part of him kind of wants to keep it to himself in case he’s on to something, “I mean, like medical reports and stuff don’t really match up with the actual evidence,” He tells her, “It’s weird, I kinda wanna go out to the old Hale house and look for myself.”

“Yeah, I considered that myself,” Lydia admits, “You get that with small town crimes, horrible work isn’t looked at. They just conclude whatever they can before it gets to the press,” She shakes her head, “What can you expect from cops? They’re pigs for a reason.”

“Hey, now,” Stiles chides and takes offense to that, “Be careful what you say, Lyds. I’d hate to have to throw down with you right now.”

Lydia chuckles, “I’m not talking about your dad, okay, Stilinski?” She says in a challenging tone, “Really, your dad is one of a kind, diamond in the rough and all that. But most cops really don’t care. You can’t argue **that** , you’ve seen those doofuses that work with him.”

“Yeah,” Stiles nods and takes a bite of food, staring probably a little too intently at the macaroni and cheese, “Just kinda wish people would take their jobs a little more seriously, maybe then certain people wouldn’t really be given such a bad rep.”

“And by certain people, you totally mean Hale, don’t you?” Scott asks and smiles at Stiles, “I told you he’s not a bad guy.”

Heather stays silent, sipping her beer for a moment before chugging the rest as they continue talking over the table.

“Have you looked into Boyd’s case?” Lydia asks, pointing her fork with it’s broccoli still on it, “That’s the dirtiest case I’ve ever seen look **so** clean. Digging into that is impossible. I almost got fired when I tried.”

“I’ve looked at the file, I’ve read reports from top to bottom at least fifty times and I’ve even read over the evaluation of the murder weapon,” Stiles says and continues to talk around mouthfuls of food, “But I still can’t find anything. It’s-It’s almost **too** clean.”

“Squeaky clean,” Lydia says thoughtfully, “Don’t look too much into it any more than that. You’re new, you might **actually** lose your job. The only reason I didn’t was because I’m… Me,” She smiles, “There’s not much more to know about it, though. The farthest I got was finding out what Hale’s alibi was.”

Scott watches between Stiles and Lydia as they discuss work, then offers Heather a small smile, wondering how out of the loop she must feel.

“In the file it just says 'confidential', how in the Hell did you find out what his alibi was?” Stiles asks curiously, fork stilling against his plate as he raises his brows at Lydia.

Lydia shrugs, “I bribed a higher up that has an interest in me,” She passes the casserole to Scott carefully, “I got the information, and then when I got back to my desk there was this nice red warning letter and I got scolded by Deaton."

"Like I said, don’t look into it too much, ever since then you can’t bring that up with a superior without some stiff, bent out of shape response like ‘that’s classified information, and if you were supposed to know about it you wouldn’t have to ask questions’.”

Stiles takes a drink of his beer and nods, leaning forward a little as he levels Lydia with a curious look, “What was his alibi?”

“A receipt,” Lydia says and frowns when Heather excuses herself to get another beer from the fridge, “He purchased fifteen dollars worth of gas across town about two minutes before the gun shots were reported being heard. Thing is… The card that was used was his, but the vehicle wasn’t. His car was on scene.”

“What about the gas station, though?” Stiles asks, because he really wants to believe that maybe Derek **is** innocent, “Did it have security tapes? Was Derek actually there?”

“The man working at the time mentioned seeing a ‘dark figure’ purchasing at the pump,” Lydia explains, still smiling to herself, “But the film from both the gas station **and** the store nearby that caught the incident look very distorted during the full ten minutes it took. It’s like flashlights or something around which you can see the vehicle, and that’s about it.”

“A ‘dark’ figure?” Stiles shakes his head and fights the urge to sigh out of frustration, “Is that literally the best description the clerk could come up with?”

Lydia licks her lips and takes a sip of her tea, “They say he was an average-sized, stalky, dark figure. I dunno about you, but Hale’s not exactly what I’d call ‘average-sized’.”

“Yeah, no way,” Stiles agrees, “More like bear-sized, none of this makes any sense.”

“I know,” Lydia says as she raises her brows at Scott, “It doesn’t make any sense at all - yet some people still think he’s innocent. It wasn’t him at the gas station, pumping gas. My bet is it was his ‘fixed alibi’, because he knew it’d come up. He never reported his gun missing beforehand, either. As far as I’m concerned, it isn’t an alibi at all.”

Heather walks back into the room with a fresh beer and sits back down, glancing between them silently before starting in on her food.

Scott rolls his eyes at Lydia and opts for cleaning the rest of his food off of his plate, because regardless of what he says, she’ll find a way to argue it.

“You said yourself that he’s unpopular, he’s not very well liked,” Stiles muses, “And if he was disliked before the whole Boyd situation, couldn’t it be possible that he was framed or something? I’ve-I’ve kinda talked to the guy a little and I seriously don’t think he did it.”

“A man like that?” Lydia asks rhetorically, “He’s got secrets, there’s no way he doesn’t. Sure, people don’t like him, but it’s not like he **helps** to dissuade them from thinking that way. I can’t even find out what gym he goes to, I bet he uses steroids. He’s huge, you haven’t seen him in action much, Scott and I saw him toss this one perp like he was **nothing**.”

Stiles scoffs at Lydia’s accusations, “Come on, having secrets doesn’t really make you a killer. And the guy doesn’t have much of a social life, he’s seriously closed off. All he does is go to work and workout, it’s no wonder he looks the way he does.”

“I’d probably look like that if I worked out all the time too,” Scott offers, siding with his best friend on the matter.

“Stiles hasn’t even seen him with his shirt off, have you?” Lydia asks and smiles knowingly, “He’s ripped, like… Like the man has no life at all, he might as well be an underwear model or something.”

She looks at Scott, “Maybe we should start an FBI sexy calendar or something, you’d be January…”

Scott almost chokes on his food and manages to swallow it down with a drink of his beer, “No way, the only person I pose for is you.”

“I’m still not seeing what any of this, or him being jacked has anything to do with his tie to either case,” Stiles says flatly, looking at Lydia, “You just wanted to wax poetic about the guy’s muscles, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” Lydia says and shrugs, “Or maybe Boyd found out about it and Hale took care of him, who really knows - that’s between them.”

She takes a quick sip of her tea, “All I know is that one of our agents got shot and killed on a case that’s now classified and the only alibi for his partner isn’t as concrete as it should be. He should’ve been with Boyd, that’s his job, not filling up his gas tank.”

“ _I still think it’s stupid to kill someone over steroids_ ,” Stiles mumbles and licks the mashed potatoes from his fork.

“Mommy I’m full,” Heidi speaks up and rubs her tummy, pouting pitifully at Lydia, “Can I go play now, please?”

Lydia stands up from her seat, “After we brush your teeth,” She says as she moves to her daughter, “After that you can do **all** the playing you want, but first we’ve gotta make sure you don’t start growing vegetables in your mouth.”

Heather raises a brow and smiles halfheartedly, “So, are we done talking about murder at the dinner table?”

Stiles looks at Heather then and frowns, “We’re not really discussing the murder, we’re talking about the case,” He says, unable to understand why it’s even an issue, “Plural, ' **cases** '.”

“' **Been tired of hearing about it** ',” Heather says back slowly, “Past tense.”

Stiles gapes at her and narrows his brows, “Yeah, well, I get tired of you telling me about your mother going to bingo all of the time, but you don’t see me bitching about it.”

“Okay,” Scott says suddenly, drawing the word out as he stands up and grabs his plate, “I think I’m gonna do dishes, either one of you wanna join me?”

“I talk about her maybe once a fucking week,” Heather says, her eyes widening, “Every other word out of your mouth is about this stupid ‘Hell fire’, and some ‘boy’ that keeps getting shot. That’s all you talk about. ‘Why’d you make tuna casserole, speaking of my cases...’.”

Stiles splutters a little and feels his cheeks heat out of anger, “It’s **Hale** , Heather, say it with me, **Hale** ,” He says slowly, enunciating the name as his hands flail, “And it’s not some ‘boy’, it’s a grown man and his name was Boyd. I may talk about it all the time, but you’re kinda proving how little you actually fucking listen to me.”

“I got tired of hearing about it the **second time** , it’s not my fault that I’m not as passionate about your work as you are,” Heather says, raising her voice as she turns to Stiles completely, “I’m passionate about **you** , and you are so fucking blinded by your work that you don’t even realize that half the time I’m talking to you, I’m asking you questions that actually matter in our _personal_ life, of which we don’t even fucking have anymore.”

Stiles opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it abruptly and glances guiltily at Scott before looking back at Heather, “Enough, we’re not doing this here,” He says, shaking his head before diverting his attention back to his food.

“Alright then, I’m just-” Scott points to the kitchen and eases out of the room, “Gonna go do my thing.”

Heather takes her beer and stands up, “Fine,” She says as she purses her lips, “Let’s not do it here, let’s not do anything at all. We never do,” She leaves the table, storming out of the house as quietly as she can as she makes her way to the car.

Lydia walks back into the room a moment later and frowns as she looks around, “Where did everybody go?”

“Uh, Scotty’s in the kitchen doing dishes - kudos by the way, that you’ve finally gotten him to do that - and…” Stiles looks towards the front door and frowns before standing up slowly, “I think Heather went out to sit in the car.”

“Was she upset about the 'job talk'?” Lydia makes a face, “I thought she might’ve been getting uncomfortable. It’s hard to keep quiet about that stuff when three out of four of us are involved.”

“Yeah,” Stiles shakes his head and picks up his plate, “I don’t really think it’s the job or the discussions about it, I think it’s just me,” He says lowly, smiling sadly at Lydia before going into the kitchen to give Scott his plate.

“I should probably go, dude,” He says, putting the dish into the soapy water before patting his friend on the back, “I’d love to stay and chill for a while, but I can’t really leave her out there by herself.”

“No, it’s cool, man, I get it,” Scott shrugs it off and smiles at Stiles as he washes the plates, “Go fix things with your lady.”

Lydia follows after with Heather’s dishes and walks into the kitchen, watching the exchange between her husband and his best friend as she sets down everything on the counter by the sink before moving to Stiles and hugging him, “It was nice seeing you two.”

“You too,” Stiles says mindlessly and kisses her cheek before pulling away, “Dinner was amazing,” He looks at Scott then and nudges him in the side, “ _You’re lucky, dude. Cherish it_ ,” He utters, then moves to make his way out of the house.

He makes sure to close the front door behind himself quietly, even though part of him kind of wants to slam it shut, then stalks to the car and slides in, starting the engine without saying so much as a word to Heather.


	4. One Foot In

It should be mildly concerning how quickly Stiles forgets about the spat with Heather, but it doesn’t so much as cross his mind after he steps foot back into the office Monday morning. He’s early, one of the first few to arrive, so he takes the time to go over Boyd’s case some more, getting steadily frustrated with how neat it all is.

Normally, even with small cases, there are slip ups somewhere, and it’s unnerving how he can’t find anything on a case so important. When everyone else starts filing in, he decides to put the case away, trying to oblige the older man’s wishes about doing it on his own time.

It eats away at him though and he wants to know more, so he sits on the edge of Derek’s desk and waits for the older man to come in, figuring maybe it won’t hurt to ask a question or two.

Derek walks passed the boy sitting there waiting for him and he turns to look at agent Stilinski as he removes his coat and paddle holster, raising his brows as he stares down at the younger man, “What?”

“Good morning to you, too,” Stiles says as his eyes widen, but he stands up from the desk almost at once and moves around to the front of it. He looks up at Derek and crosses his arms, nibbling nervously on his bottom lip, “So, um… I kinda have a question and I’d really like it if you didn’t Hulk out on me when I ask.”

Derek frowns and glances around the room at the other agents, “You’re at work, it can’t wait?”

“No, it **can’t** ,” Stiles clarifies somewhat seriously and moves closer to the desk, brows narrowing as he lowers his voice, “What case were you and Boyd working when he got killed?” He asks bravely.

“If you’ve looked into it already,” Derek says as he sits down, “I imagine you’ve already seen that the case is **classified** , I’m assuming you know what that means.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Stiles leans forward and rests his palms on the senior agent’s desk, “But I’m asking **you**. You worked that case with him, you know what it was about. I need to know, Hale.”

“No you don’t,” Derek responds, “You just _want_ to know. It’s a classified case, that’s all you _need_ to know.”

“Would you just stop for one second and realize that not **everyone** is out to get you,” Stiles says and shakes his head, “When I say I need to know, I mean I **need** to know. Otherwise I wouldn’t even be asking you right now.”

“I remember specifically telling you to shut the fuck up about the cases and deal with them on your own time,” Derek motions to Stiles, “You’re violating **both** of those commands.”

Stiles sighs at the older man and stands back up, “Right,”  He mutters and moves back to his own desk, “I dunno why I even thought asking you would be a good idea.”

“That makes two of us,” Derek says as Deaton walks passed them and he logs onto his computer, otherwise silent.

Stiles sits down at his desk and waits until Deaton disappears into his own office before leaning forward, unable to keep his mouth shut, “I mean, does it not seem weird to you in the slightest that the last case the two of you worked together just randomly becomes ‘confidential’ or whatever after he dies?”

“I’ve reviewed the case,” Derek says stiffly, “It’s not weird that they don’t want rookie employees looking over certain cases, that’s just procedure.”

“It wasn’t made confidential because of me, Hale, and I think you know it,” Stiles whispers harshly, trying to keep his voice down, “And I’m-I’m not questioning your competence or anything, but you’ve been here for a long time. What could it really hurt to let a pair of new eyes look it over?”

Derek looks at Stiles then and sighs in annoyance, standing from his desk and leaving the front room without saying another word.

“Really?!” Stiles squeaks out and it comes out louder than expected, so he slinks down into his seat a little bit when Argent looks at him sternly, “Sorry, I’ll keep it down.”

Jackson chuckles and shakes his head, “What, no-Emily, it’s fine,” He says quickly into the phone and raises his brow at Stilinski as if to say ‘why would you expect any different? The guy’s a dick’.

Stiles rolls his eyes at Whittemore and boots his computer up as well, sighing to himself and tapping his fingers along the edge of his desk as he waits on it to load. He doesn’t particularly understand why Derek’s so adamant about not telling him anything, especially when he’s doing all of the digging for the older man’s benefit.

Derek comes back about an hour later with a few files in hand, setting them to his left as he takes his seat at his desk and starts going through a couple of them, making a list of leads in silence as he pointedly ignores Stiles.

Stiles glances at the files on Derek’s desk and raises a brow, “You know, I could literally just bug you to death about it, but I’d seriously rather not. Being annoying gets exhausting after a while.”

“Good,” Derek says in a clipped tone, “McCall,” He looks up from his work, “Have you been working on the Bruckner case?”

Scott stops next to agent Hale’s desk and nods, “Yeah, did you need something?” He asks.

“I have a case that’s linked to it,” Derek raises his brows, “One of your leads was one of mine, if you don’t mind me taking it off your hands.”

“I’ll have to double check with Lydia-I mean, _Martin_ ,” Scott amends, “But yeah, I don’t see the problem. She’s been wanting to be done with that case for a while now.”

“Take it,” Lydia says, overhearing the conversation and she moves to Hale’s desk, handing him the file and looking at Stiles pointedly, “I hate dealing with **steroid cases** ,” She says as she licks her lips and goes back to her seat.

Derek frowns and takes the file, opening it and glancing through it quietly.

Stiles leans forward on his own desk as Scott follows after Lydia, “ _She thinks you do steroids_ ,” He says simply.

“I know,” Derek responds, “This isn’t the first case she’s given to me,” He looks through the list of leads and frowns, “We gotta go,” He says quickly, closing the file and taking the ones he’d brought in before, standing up and grabbing his coat and holster.

Stiles gapes in confusion and closes the open files on his own desk before standing up, grabbing his holster and pulling it on, “Why, what’s up?” He asks.

“Hopefully nothing,” Derek says as he passes the elevator completely and takes the stairs, “You and I spoke to her on Friday, she’s that thin woman with the blonde hair - Linda Smith.”

“Okay,” Stiles says vaguely and follows after Derek, almost finding it difficult to keep up with the guy and his stupidly long legs, “What about her?”

Derek holds the files firmly in his hands as he reaches ground level and starts for his car, “Bruckner is her dealer,” He glances back at Stiles, “We questioned her about her brother, and he’s been missing for a week.”

“You think Bruckner has something to do with his disappearance?” Stiles asks and literally has to jog in order to catch up, finally falling into step next to the senior agent.

“Like I said, hopefully it’s nothing,” Derek knits his brows together as he looks down at Stiles, “You need to work on your legs.”

“And you need to cut back,” Stiles responds, trying not to wheeze, “How am I supposed to keep up with you?” He asks rhetorically.

“Run?” Derek suggests, “Height isn’t an excuse,” He says as he walks around to the driver’s side of his car and opens the door, putting on his holster and his coat before ducking in quickly and starting the car.

Stiles slides into the passenger seat and closes his door, “That’s really easy for you to say when you’re built like the fucking Twin Towers,” He scoffs.

Derek pulls out of his spot and hands the files to Stiles before he leaves the parking lot, “Check if there’s a phone number for her in there.”

Stiles opens the first one and sifts through the papers, looking where Smith’s contact number would be if there was one and frowns before moving to the Bruckner file.

He glances up occasionally and looks at Derek while he’s searching and lifts the file when he finds it, “There’s a contact number for her in Bruckner’s file, but not in her brother’s,” He says, eying the last and thickest file curiously as he puts the others down to pick it up, “What’s this?”

Derek looks at Stiles when he can, and then glances down at the file, “ **Classified**.”

Stiles runs his hand over the front of the file and smiles slowly at Derek, nodding, “Thanks-Thank you, you won’t regret it,” He says and begrudgingly sets it aside for now, even though he’s dying to look at it - it’s better to try and stay focused on one thing at a time.

“We’ll talk about it at lunch,” Derek responds, “You can’t be seen with that, or you’ll be looking for a new partner.”

“Yeah, no, I’ll definitely keep it under wraps,” Stiles says and it actually makes him feel pretty damn good that Derek’s (kind of) trusting him with this.

Derek nods silently before feeling like he has to make another point before dropping it entirely, “That means no talking about it in the office, and **don’t** talk about it to McCall or Martin. As far as they know, and anyone else, I refuse to talk to you about it after I left this morning.”

“Okay,” Stiles says numbly and feels confident enough that he can do that much, an inexplicable part of himself doesn’t really want to let agent Hale down, “Got it.”

Derek presses his lips together, still wondering if he’s made the right choice letting the boy look at the file. It’s **his** head that’ll be pumped full of bullets if the kid slips up, “Call that number.”

Stiles opens the Bruckner case again and dials the number on the paper, putting the phone to his ear as he watches Derek blankly and waits for someone to pick up. When the voicemail answers, he hangs up and shakes his head,”Nothing.”

Derek frowns as he listens to the call and shakes his head, “Be ready when we get there. I probably should’ve sent someone else, you’re still...” He looks at Stiles and sighs, “ _Green_.”

“I’m trying,” Stiles defends himself weakly and looks away from the senior agent.

“It’s not your fault,” Derek agrees and looks back at the road, “I’m just not use to dealing with someone that’s only been doing this for a week.” He doesn’t say anything more, but he fucking hates it. It’s infuriating to be stuck with a child, and while it doesn’t put his **own** life in danger completely, it definitely puts his job in danger.

“Sorry I’m not a seasoned vet like yourself,” Stiles responds, mood effectively killed, “We all gotta start somewhere, though.”

Derek nods and parks the car on the side of the road outside of the complex and turns to Stiles, “You’re **lucky** you’re partnered with me instead of someone like McCall. At least I can pick up the slack. If she’s fine, we need to take her in, but since she’s not picking up, you need to be ready for anything.”

Stiles tries not to take offense to Derek’s words and pulls his gun from the holster, flicking the safety off as he nods to his partner, “I’m ready,” He insists.

“Good,” Derek says firmly, “Remember to breathe, and stay behind me,” He opens his door, taking out his own gun and flicking off the safety as he quickly moves around to Stiles’s side of the car, walking ahead of him. The best he can do, **if** there are others that are armed, is make sure that if either of them gets shot it’s himself.

Stiles isn’t particularly fond of using Derek as a human shield, but he does as his partner says and follows him, gun on point as he minds his periphery cautiously.

Derek walks to the first house and frowns as he hears two different heart beats inside, staggered breathing coming from one of them and he motions for Stiles to stay on the left side of the door, quickly moving over to the right side and ducking as he hears one of the people inside step to it.

He glances up and knocks twice, pulling his hand back just as two bullets are shot through the wood of the door, “FBI!” He shouts in warning.

Stiles winces when the gun shots go off and he ducks down as well, waiting on his partner’s lead to gauge what the fuck he should do, “They’re hostile, can we shoot?”

“Not yet,” Derek says under his breath, checking the door and his eyes widen when he realizes it’s unlocked. He stays down, takes two quick breaths as he listens to the person on the other side and he stands up, shoving the door inward and smashing the man’s nose on the other side.

He ducks back, dodging one more shot and leaning against the wall, “On three, I want you to-” He motions to the window behind Stiles, “Bruckner?” He shouts loud enough for the man that’s still wincing on the other side of the door.

“Not here,” The guy responds smartly.

Stiles nods and slides along the wall, leaning tentatively to peer in through the slit of the curtains as he aims at one of the men’s hands, the one holding the gun. He’s had training, so he knows he can do it, but shooting at a _realistic cut out_ is a little different from aiming at a real target. Taking in a deep breath, Stiles pulls the trigger and shoots the gun out of the perp’s hand and looks back at Derek, “Got him.”

“Come on,” Derek motions to the door and opens it, moving to the first man and ducking as the guy swings out at him. He grabs the man by his jaw and shoves him back into the table, aiming his gun at the second one, “Are you two willing to cooperate now?”

Stiles moves to the man on the floor wailing and clutching his wrist, kicking his foot out to scoot the gun away from the guy as he keeps his own pointed down at him, “There doesn’t need to be any more bloodshed.”

Derek starts to walk to the man against the table when the guy throws out his leg and kicks Derek between the legs. He grabs the guy’s foot and yanks it upwards until the man falls on his ass and the werewolf moves quickly, turning him over and cuffing him, “Was that **really** necessary?”

“Fuck you, FBI,” The guy says back, glaring at Stiles as he shifts on the ground.

Derek rolls his eyes and straightens up, glancing around the house but seeing no signs of Linda Smith.

Stiles nudges the other man to his stomach as well and bends down to cuff him, grimacing and feeling slightly uneasy when he gets some of the man’s blood on his hands, “Here’s to hoping you don’t have AIDS,” He mutters and hoists the guy up to his feet, grunting with how heavy he is.

“Stilinski,” Derek reaches out to take the man off Stiles’s hands and then motions towards the back rooms, “Check in there real quick, I’ll watch these two.” He wouldn’t have suggested it if he wasn’t a hundred percent sure there was no one else in the house… _No one alive, at least_.

Stiles nods and raises his gun again before carefully making his way back towards the back of the house, kicking the doors open with the tip of his foot. There’s nothing in the first two, but when he pushes the third door open he has to cover his nose with the back of his forearm to block the smell, “We got a body,” He says, loudly enough for Derek to hear.

Derek closes his eyes for a split second and nods, “Okay, get back in here,” He says as he watches the two men and he shakes his head in disgust.

Stiles obliges happily and meanders back into the main room, still grimacing as he looks at Derek, “Looks like she was shot in the head, point blank.”

“Not as nice as it is in the movies, is it?” Derek asks rhetorically, “Looks like we’ve got two new leads.”

* * *

Derek sits in the car with Stiles, getting comfortable once he’s turned it off and he reaches for the larger of the two bags in the boy’s lap, “Still worked up from earlier?” He asks knowingly.

“Yeah,” Stiles tries to still his knee from bouncing, digging into his own bag even though he’s not particularly hungry after seeing his first dead body, “I dunno how you come down so quick.”

“Sometimes I don’t,” Derek admits honestly, “Sometimes it can take days to come down from something, but it doesn’t happen that often anymore. Lately it’s…” He stops himself and shakes his head, opening his container of Pad Thai.

“You can’t just start to say something and then completely cut me out like that,” Stiles says and snaps his chopsticks before digging into his rice, “I have an obsessive personality, and if you don’t say what you were gonna say, then it’s gonna drive me crazy. So… Lately it’s been what?”

Derek frowns and shrugs as he sucks the ends of the noodles into his mouth and chews for a moment before swallowing and responding, “I don’t wanna divulge information like that,” He mutters and looks at Stiles. In all honesty, the boy already thinks there’s something wrong with him, and there **is** , but if he told Stiles how he felt, the little shit would tell someone.

“You’re already trusting me with one of your old cases,” Stiles points out, but he makes sure to keep his tone light. The last thing he wants to do is make Derek shut off and crawl back into his Hobbit Hole or some shit.

“It’s not an old case,” Derek narrows his brows, “It’s three weeks old.” Still, the point’s been made, he kind of already **is** trusting Stiles not to get him killed.

“Still, Hale, it’s the principle of the thing,” Stiles says, shrugging, “You’re trusting me with something and you can trust me with other things, too. That’s what partners are for.”

“I’m already seeing a therapist about the death of my former partner,” Derek responds, “The last thing I want is to have you try to analyze me or have me looked at even closer by a professional.”

Stiles stops eating for a moment and frowns as he lowers his container of rice to his lap, looking at the older man curiously, “You think that I’m gonna think you’re crazy, don’t you?” He asks warily.

Derek looks back at Stiles and raises a brow, “You don’t already?”

“No,” Stiles answers honestly, because when he thinks of agent Hale, 'crazy' isn’t really the first word that comes to mind, “And I’m not gonna analyze you, dude.”

Derek sighs and looks forward, sitting back in his seat and staying silent for a moment, “I don’t feel anything anymore. No rush, nothing.”

“So, it’s just kinda like going through the motions for you?” Stiles asks, kind of amazed that Derek actually told him, “You’ve been with the FBI for twelve years, isn’t that… _Normal_?”

“To be bored when you’re being shot at by irate people that have already murdered one person?” Derek asks back and shakes his head, “It’s not normal at all.”

“When did you stop feeling the rush?” Stiles asks, numbly eating on his rice while he watches his partner, “Was it before or after the Boyd thing?”

“It’s been getting worse over time,” Derek says and shakes his head, “Boyd knew about it. The reason why I started in the first place hasn’t meant much of anything for the past three years. After he was murdered, it went away completely.”

Stiles has asked the older man before **why** he decided to join the FBI, but Derek wouldn’t tell him then. He takes in a deep breath and decides to ask again.

“Why did you join?” He asks in hopes that maybe his partner trusts him enough at this point to tell him.

“To try and solve my family’s case and put it to rest,” Derek shrugs, “To find out who murdered my sister.”

“And not being able to solve it is why you don’t really enjoy the job anymore?” Stiles asks and hopes that the other agent doesn’t think he’s analyzing, because he’s not - he’s just trying to understand the older man better.

“Maybe,” Derek responds as he continues eating his food, “Vernon’s death just… I guess it was the nail in the coffin.”

“You and he were close,” Stiles says and it’s not really a question, but more of an observance, “I’m sorry about what happened to him,” He says sincerely, even more determined now to figure it all out.

Derek nods silently, not bothering to say anything back. **If** he’d ever had a best friend, it would’ve been Boyd. His partner had been the only person that could tolerate him, and vice versa, and they understood one another on a level that wasn’t really easy for others. Considering most of their time was spent in silence, that probably says something.

Stiles doesn’t really mind that Derek doesn’t respond, he just continues eating his rice and clears his throat, “Can I ask you a question about Boyd’s case?”

Derek shrugs and glances at Stiles, “Go ahead.”

“I know it’s not in the file per se, but according to sources, your alibi was that you were purchasing fuel at a gas station clear across town shortly before Boyd got shot,” Stiles says and he’s trying to make sure he says everything in a way to let Derek know he’s not accusing him of anything, “The clerk’s description of you doesn’t match… It wasn’t you at the gas station, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t,” Derek answers, staring back at the boy calmly.

Stiles huffs out a surprised breath, because he hadn’t anticipated Derek telling him that, “Whoever it was had your credit card, do you know of anyone that could’ve gotten their hands on it?”

Derek shakes his head, “I don’t know who it was, but they had my wallet, and they left the receipt in it,” He explains, “I didn’t mention **any** of that in my report, it would've made me look more guilty, instead of helping my case. But I checked it for prints and got nothing. There was no reason bringing it up at all.”

Stiles nods and rolls his tongue between his lips to wet them, “Your car was on scene, Hale,” He says softly, “But where were you when it happened? That’s like, the million dollar question.”

“I was with Boyd,” Derek says and looks down at his food, letting out a tight breath as he presses his lips together.

“Then why does it say you weren’t in the file?” Stiles asks in confusion, “I know your car was on scene and the bullet came from your gun, which was also found at the crime scene, but there’s no mention of you actually **being** there…”

Derek shakes his head, “No one else knows where I was. The report clearly states that Boyd was using my vehicle some time after lunch, that he went in alone and he was shot by someone who fled the scene. And if you dig in far enough, the most you'll find out beyond that is that the reason I wasn't on scene was because I was pumping gas into a 'possible rental car'. That’s how it looks, it isn’t how it happened at all.”

“Then how did it happen and why in the Hell haven’t you told anyone?” Stiles asks and furrows his brows.

“It involves people that had the power to make the file classified,” Derek responds, “It’s… Complicated to explain. I keep my mouth shut about it because if I say a word, I get a clip unloaded in my skull.”

“So you’re not gonna tell me, are you?” Stiles shakes his head, “You’re gonna make me figure it out by myself.”

Derek sighs and glares at Stiles, “There’s nothing to figure out, the only people that know what happened are me and three others, the rest of it is the file you’ve seen already. There’s no way to solve his case. He was murdered by people that are paid five times your yearly salary in less than a minute, trust me - if you keep looking, you’ll get killed, and then your case will look just like Boyd’s.”

Stiles nods, but he’s not just going to give up on it, he’ll continue to look into it on his own time, “You know,” He says, changing the subject, “The glare has kinda lost it’s novelty, I’m not really afraid of you anymore.”

“You should be,” Derek says back and looks away, “You’re gonna keep looking, and you’re gonna get killed.”

In all honesty, he’d been initially suspicious of Stiles from the start, but he’s beginning to realize that the boy is just a fucking moronic child that can’t keep his nose out of places it doesn’t belong, “If I tell you, will you **stop** looking?”

“No,” Stiles says honestly at once, “But I wouldn’t particularly mind hearing it from you first hand.”

Derek frowns, and he can’t help thinking that no matter what he says, he’s going to lose a second partner. He swallows tightly, “We were on a case that involved a drug that’s been going around on the streets for a while now. I’ve seen a couple cases come up since the first, but I don’t touch them, for obvious reasons."

"Boyd had been going through leads that morning, we went out and questioned a few people - eventually, we got a solid trail; a name and location of one of the dealers that had been selling the drug to people.”

“Okay, and you… What? You followed the trail and tracked down the dealer?” Stiles guesses, “Where did things go wrong?”

“We found the dealer and he ran,” Derek says, wetting his lips as his brows narrow, “While I was chasing him on foot, Boyd followed behind in the car. We met back up outside of the abandoned building and he took the back door, I took the front."

"Before I entered, someone came from behind me and took my gun. He forced me inside where two other men were waiting, none of them were the dealer, he wasn’t in sight at all, I-” Derek almost mentions listening for their heart beats, but manages to catch himself and he looks at Stiles, “I saw one of the other men bring Boyd in from the back. They shot him, they cleaned up, and then they left.”

The entire story is as edited as he can possibly make it without removing vital information. Derek knows, or suspects, that at **least** two of the men involved were werewolves.

The one that came up from behind him was astonishingly fast, so fast that he didn't even hear the beating of their heart until they had his gun in hand. And it's not like they just _shoved_ him into the building and he went without a fight. Bullets do little to him, so it's not like he was worried about that, either, not when Vernon's life was on the line.

“Jesus Christ,” Stiles breathes and frowns at the older man, “That’s-That’s seriously fucked up, I just-I really don’t understand why all of that isn’t in the file instead. You’re innocent, Hale.”

Derek shakes his head, “I thought I was, too. I didn’t question any of it until after I filed my report. Boyd’s autopsy was dismissed, they didn’t look into any of it. They didn’t even check my gun for prints. I was expecting a routine sweep of the building, but that never happened. They wanted me to take leave from work, even offered a month off, I didn’t take it, obviously.”

“That’s seriously fucking suspicious,” Stiles closes his container of rice and puts it back into the bag for later, “Who are the higher ups in the bureau?”

“We’re not really paid to know that,” Derek says, raising his brows, “But I know two of the men in the building when Boyd was shot, I’ve seen them before. The one that took my gun though… I…” He frowns and shakes his head, “If I tried to explain any of them to you, you’d think I was making all of it up.”

“Try me,” Stiles counters and crosses his arms.

Derek clears his throat, “The one that took my gun was blind. I’m sure of that, the way he had his sunglasses, the way he walked. But he took my gun right off me and I didn’t even notice he was there.”

“That’s kinda creepy,” Stiles says and shivers at the thought, “But you know what they say about blind people. I mean, it kinda heightens all of their other senses… Maybe he was just a really good pocket picker. What else, what about the other guys?”

“An older man, I’ve seen him a few times before at big official FBI conferences and things,” Derek says warily, “His hair is almost completely white, and he knew me by name. The third guy was covered, I’m not sure it was even a man, he stood in the back and he didn’t say anything at all, he just… Watched.”

“Okay and the creepy factor officially went up like a million points,” Stiles says with wide eyes, “Which one of them shot Boyd?”

“The blind one,” Derek responds, and it sounds stupid when he says it, but there’s really no other way to explain it, “He’s the other one I’ve seen before, but only once when I first started with the FBI. He's never spoken, or said a thing to me, not even when he killed Vernon.”

“All of this is shady, why would anyone involved in the FBI shoot an agent in cold blood,” Stiles bites on his thumb nail as he muses, “I dunno, man,” He looks at Derek then, “I’ll figure it out,” He says surely.

“It’s not your job to figure it out, Stilinski,” Derek says as he watches the boy, “Whatever reason my last partner was killed for, it’s none of your concern. The more you dig, the more you’ll risk ending up just like him. I don’t go digging for a reason, even if I wanna do it for him, to find out why he died - it’s not worth getting killed.”

“I’m not gonna get killed,” Stiles says confidently, “And you’re not the only one that could benefit from having closure. Boyd had to have had a family, they deserve some kind of justice.” He’s too intrigued and too deep into it all to back out now, anyway.

Derek raises his brow at the younger man, “No, he didn’t,” He says and rolls his eyes, “Apart from other agents in the FBI, there was no one else at his burial. He didn’t have anyone else, he’d been on his own for… Years.”

“Fine then,” Stiles says, looking at Derek more firmly now, “Maybe you **are** the only one who needs closure, but if you don’t get it, it’ll eat away at you.” He should know, especially considering he’s speaking from personal experience, “And I’d prefer not to have an unstable partner. Also, I shouldn’t have to justify wanting to solve a case. It’s what I do, regardless if it was **my** case or not.”

“I’ve lived without closure for the better part of twenty years,” Derek responds as he picks back up his food, “I’m more than familiar with it, the only thing you’re gonna end up doing by pushing to learn more about this case is get yourself killed. You think I’m kidding about that, you think you’re immortal, or immune - but you’re wrong. I’m speaking from experience, I watched my last partner die right in front of me. If you keep looking… I’ll be forced to watch you get shot with my own gun as well.”

“Maybe you should opt for a more optimistic outlook on things,” Stiles says, “Seems kinda impossible given the shit you’ve had to go through, but I’m better than you give me credit for.”

“That’s besides the point,” Derek looks at Stiles, “It doesn’t matter how good you think you are, it’ll end the same way. Even if you solve the case, you’ll still get shot. Or maybe you’ll dig until they take **me** out as a warning to shut your fucking mouth and do what you’re supposed to do.”

“We were getting along, Hale, bonding even,” Stiles gestures vaguely between them, “Why do you have to go and ruin the moment?” He asks rhetorically and sighs.

“Because I don’t want to see another fucking partner of mine’s brains get splattered all over the inside of a fucking abandoned building, Stilinski!” Derek all but shouts, raising his voice, “One, surprisingly, is **more** than enough!”

“Calm down,” Stiles turns more towards the older man with narrowed brows, putting his palms up timidly, “It’ll be fine,” He insists, “Besides, even if something does happen to me, they’d just be doing you a favor.”

“That’s not doing anyone a favor,” Derek says as he turns away, staring silently out his window as he shakes his head. Stiles has no clue what it’s like to feel that helpless, to have your partner shot in front of you and to not be able to do a damn thing about it.

“Maybe not,” Stiles shrugs and watches the older man, “But I’m not giving up on it,” He says resolutely.

Derek sighs in annoyance and starts the car, “Of course you’re not.”

  
[MageStiles](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/) ϟ [Sparklinski](http://sparklinski.tumblr.com/)  



	5. Once In A...

Stiles gets home around seven in the evening, carrying the thick file under his arm as he lets himself in. The anticipation of actually reading the file has him so worked up that he goes straight for the living room, spreading it all out on the coffee table before him.

Normally, he seeks out Heather and gives her a quick kiss, but he’s too anxious to bother putting the file off any longer. Sitting down on the couch, he begins reading the reports about the drug, inwardly listing the ingredients to himself and grimacing at some of the documented side effects. It sounds horrible and, for something that’s supposed to make you feel _good_ , it just seems kind of counterproductive.

He doesn’t particularly lock on to one thing in general, but instead memorizes everything, takes in every little detail about it that he can. And probably one of the most confusing things he stumbles upon is the alarming amount of Aconite in the drug, leaving him baffled as to why anyone would want to ingest a poisonous flower - as if the cocaine alone wasn’t bad enough.

Heather walks into the living room then, raising her brows when she sees Stiles sitting there already and she frowns, “Hey, you’re home,” She says and moves to him, glancing around at all of his work, “Big case?”

Stiles looks up and offers a weak, barely there smile before reaching out to her, pulling Heather down into his lap as he glances at the papers strewn about, “Yeah,” He says, wrapping his arms around her waist before kissing her cheek, “I didn’t hear you when I came in.”

Heather shrugs and tries to be understanding about it, “You gonna crack it like the nerdy little detective you are, Agent Stilinski?”

“You know it,” Stiles grins a little wider and pulls his eyes from the papers for a moment to wiggle his brows, “I like it when you say my name like that,” He says, running his right hand up her side a little and the action itself feels foreign to him.

“Like _what_?” Heather asks as she grins and raises her brows, “ _Agent Stilinski_? You like that? You want that to be like… A pet name?”

“There’s a pretty good chance I would not be opposed to hearing you say it in the throes of passion,” Stiles confirms vaguely, trying to pay a little bit of attention to her instead of brushing her off for work.

“Throes of passion?” Heather repeats in surprise, “Is that like… When you snore really loud from the other side of the bed and wake me up?”

“Only if you consider that passionate,” Stiles chuckles, “I’d like to think I’m pretty passionate about sleep,” He nods.

Heather leans in and kisses Stiles slowly, “Don’t I know it, Special Agent Stiles Stilinski. You think you can come into the kitchen and help me solve this mysterious case; the case of the quickly-cooling lasagna. I think it needs immediate attention.”

“That sounds amazing,” Stiles says, kissing her back and it actually feels kind of nice, not at all like the brief pecks to her cheek. He pulls back tentatively and frowns, though, “But I can’t, I really need to work on this.”

He brushes her chin with his thumb, “I’ll heat some up in a little bit, okay?”

Heather frowns and nods, pulling back and standing up, “Yeah, okay,” She says and glances around awkwardly before nodding again and turning to leave the room, “I’ll just keep it in the oven.”

Stiles feels guilty as he watches her head towards the kitchen and he has to rub at his temples to alleviate the beginnings of a headache, “I love you!” He shouts, leaning forward to get back to his work.

Heather puts the lasagna back in the stove and turns it off, listening to Stiles in the other room as she looks around the kitchen, and then the dining room table before her eyes start watering and she turns to head upstairs and go to bed early.

* * *

“If you say FBI fast enough,” Derek mutters as he shifts back in his seat, “You can hear the _PI_ come out pretty clearly.”

“Bullshit,” Stiles grumbles, “I dunno why the bureau can’t afford to hire a fucking PI, this is stupid.”

“We’re cheaper,” Derek responds as he rolls his neck to pop the bones, “Any PI doing a job like this would get paid up front, and for about five times as much as we do, it’s just… Dirtier business for them.”

“I’m starting to think I got into the wrong line of work,” Stiles says and shifts uncomfortably in the older man’s stupid leather seat, “You should seriously consider getting a different vehicle, something more spacy, considering how often we’ve been doing this lately. It could also stand to be a little more inconspicuous.”

“I got a muscle car **because** it stands out a lot less than you think it does,” Derek says and shrugs, “We’ve been pretty much put on stakeouts for the rest of this week and next. Deaton doesn’t like that two times now we’ve had to take down perps, and been fired at.”

“Well maybe he should go out and catch them his damn self, see if he can actually bring someone in without having to shoot or take them down,” Stiles sighs, “It’s not as easy as it sounds. And your stupid car is as about as inconspicuous as **you** are, which is to say not at all.”

Derek shrugs silently and he continues watching the front door of the house as he rests his head back, “I don’t think you have enough patience to be a PI.”

“You’re probably right, I hate this staking out bullshit,” Stiles complains again, “How come we never take my jeep?” He asks, “It’s bigger, there’s more space. You’d probably even be able to stretch without hitting your head off of the roof.”

“It’s also a **bright blue** jeep,” Derek says, looking at Stiles and raising his brows, “You think my black Camaro catches attention, you have no clue.”

“But it’s old as _Hale_ ,” Stiles puns and  tries to plead his case, “No one pays attention to an old beat up jeep. Someone sees a sleek looking black Camaro and they go ‘Ooo shiny’.”

“And then they forget it existed because another one pulls around the corner looking just like it,” Derek responds, “Your jeep isn’t something people see every day, that kind of stuff stands out.”

“Well I hope you’re having a _Hale_ of a time being crammed in here with me,” Stiles puns again, because he’s bored and he has to provide his own entertainment, “Because I’m not having a _Hale_ of a time with you, you’re boring me to death. We should play 'I spy'.”

“Or we could play ‘shut the fuck up, before I throw you out the window of my car’,” Derek suggests flatly.

“Don’t be such a sour puss, man,” Stiles reaches out and claps Derek on the shoulder, “You won’t spontaneously combust if you actually smile or laugh, you know that, right? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “Have you been looking at the file I gave you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles perks up slightly at the change of conversation, unsure of why it pleases him so much that Derek’s asking, “Did you know there’s Aconite in the drug? Someone’s actually mixing wolfsbane with cocaine, as if cocaine itself isn’t dangerous enough.”

Derek blinks at the mention of the plant and looks at Stiles, “I didn’t even really look at what the toxicology returned on the drug,” He admits and frowns, “ _Wolfsbane_ … In a drug.”

“Yeah, right?” Stiles nods at Derek’s reaction, “That was my initial thought. Why in the fuck would anyone put the two together? No wonder the side effects are insane, ingesting that shit can’t be safe.”

Derek could name a few reasons why someone would do it, but he doesn’t voice it aloud, “Boyd was the one that looked at the drug. I… Didn’t think to,” He felt anxious just being around some of the stuff (and now he knows why), “He didn’t mention the poison, though.”

“I have a feeling that if we can find the distributor, we’ll find out who’s responsible for your partner’s death,” Stiles tells him, “We need to find out what the street name is for it.”

Derek nods in agreement, “There’s a few more cases involving it, but most of the leads and perps are unable or unwilling to say anything about it.”

“Which is why we need to give them a little incentive,” Stiles muses, “You could flirt with the ladies, maybe they’d be more likely to speak up.” He grimaces after a moment, “On second thought, scratch that, you probably can’t flirt to save your life, just leave it to me.”

“Getting involved at all could get you killed,” Derek responds, not particularly taking offense to Stilinski's unreasonable observation, “The last thing we need is to pick up one of those cases and start talking to leads involved.”

“We’ve done this same old song and dance, Hale,” Stiles looks at the older man pointedly, “I’ve already told you I’m not giving up.”

Derek sighs in frustration and sits back again, “Did you find out anything else?”

“Not really, no,” Stiles shakes his head, “Which is why I need to talk to a lead or something, see if I can find a dealer.”

Derek nods silently, but he doesn’t plan to help Stiles with that one. He was already aware that two of the men involved in Boyd’s murder were werewolves, and now he knows that the drug going around is intended for his kind.

The humans that have gotten involved have just been very, **very** unfortunate, “Just let it go cold, Stilinski.”

“Not gonna happen, Hale,” Stiles retorts and grins weakly at the older man. They haven’t been partners for long, but the guy should at least get that he’s not the kind to give up something he digs his teeth into.

Derek tenses as he hears footsteps approaching the car and he looks back, then rolls his eyes and turns to Stiles once more, “I’m not gonna stop suggesting you to let it go until you do, or you’re dead.”

“And I can guarantee you that the former isn’t going to happen first,” Stiles says stubbornly and jumps a little in his seat when the girl kind of stumbles into the passenger's side window before pushing off again, cursing loudly and pulling at her hair, “What the fuck is that?”

Derek watches the girl tentatively as she starts reaching out around her, he narrows his eyes and frowns, “She’s on **something** ,” _Like that isn’t obvious_.

“Dude, she’s tripping so hard right now,” Stiles says lowly and leans forward to watch her, jerking again when she shouts nonsense and starts trying to kick the air in front of her, “I think-I think we should check and make sure she’s okay.”

“Our job is to watch the building,” Derek says dismissively, “Whatever she’s taken, she’s already taken, if we expose ourselves, it’ll ruin the stakeout.”

Stiles huffs and narrows his brows as he continues to watch the girl, eyes widening when a thought clicks into place, “It looks like she’s hallucinating,” He says and starts to panic a little when he sees the female’s urine flood down her legs, “She’s pissing herself, Hale. I think she might be on that fucking drug.”

Derek sighs in annoyance and opens his door, “Stay put,” He says firmly as he climbs out and closes his door before approaching the woman.

She’s obviously delirious, and when she tries to kick him he growls and turns her around, pulling her arms behind her back and cuffing her. The last thing he wants to do is put her in his back seat, so he moves to the trunk to take out one of the large trash bags he keeps in there for such an occasion and opens the back door, setting the bag on the seat before shoving her in as carefully as he can.

He shuts the door behind her and climbs back into the front seat, looking at Stiles, “Happy now? Our cover’s blown, after a four hour stakeout,” He starts the car and pulls away from his spot quickly.

“Like we won’t be staking out every day this week, anyway,” Stiles says, but he can’t help smiling at the older man, “It’ll be fine and **maybe** picking her up will be worth it, you never know, big guy.”

“If her piss gets on my leather, you’re replacing it,” Derek says firmly without looking at his partner as he listens to the woman muttering in the back.

“You’re kind of a drama queen sometimes, you know that?” Stiles chuckles, “I think you’d probably marry your car if you could. And it’s fitting, too. A muscle car for a muscle head.”

“Shut up, Stilinsk-” Derek mutters and slows the car as he starts feeling uneasy, his hands shaking and he glances around tentatively.

Stiles looks worriedly at the older agent and frowns, reaching out to touch his partner’s forearm, “Hey, you okay?” He asks, “Maybe you should let me drive.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Derek says stubbornly, but stops the car and climbs out, moving to the back once more and opening the door, “Give me what all you have,” He says firmly, scenting the air subtly and inwardly hopes that he can convince his partner to hold it out the window while they drive.

“N-No,” The girl shakes her head frantically and tries moving across the seat to get away from Derek, chest heaving rapidly, “Go get your own, it’s mine. You can’t have it.”

“You’re sitting in the back of an FBI agent’s car, I really don’t think you should try arguing your case here,” Derek says in annoyance, “Don't make me pat you down - just give me the drug.”

The girl’s eyes widen as if she’s suddenly seen something traumatically horrific and she scrambles the best she can with the cuffs on to reach into her pocket, taking the semi-open baggy and throwing it at the guy, “Fucking happy now? You’re killing me, take it away from me and you’re signing my death certificate.”

Derek frowns as the soft, lavender colored powder spills down the front of his shirt, onto the trash bag and all over his face. Out of reflex, he breathes in quickly and licks his lips, “ _Thanks_ ,” He says sarcastically, taking the bag and looking at the blue sharpie writing on it, “Blue moon…” He says and drops his head back for a moment as he stares up at the sky, his hands shaking.

“Hale,” Stiles says tentatively and climbs out before walking around the vehicle, approaching his partner with caution, “What are you doing, man? Come on, get back in the car.”

“It’s _Blue Moon_ , Stilinski,” Derek says as he looks at the boy, “ **Blue Moon** , get it?” He holds the bag firmly and looks down at the writing on it, “Blue, like the moon.”

“The moon’s only blue once in a… Blue… _Moon_ ,” Stiles says and yeah, he really hadn’t thought that through at all, but his eyes widen when he looks at the bag, “This is good, I told you it’d be worth it,” He says, attempting to reach out and take the bag away from his partner.

“It’s not for you,” Derek turns and ducks under the open door, pushing it closed as he starts crawling on the road.

“Whoa!” Stiles says suddenly and his eyes nearly bulge out of his head.

He glances at the girl laying in the backseat before moving to Derek, “Jesus Christ, man, did you breathe it in?” He asks, putting his hand on the older man’s back, “Wait, just-stop crawling, get up.”

“I’m not crawling, I’m swimming,” Derek mutters under his breath as he shifts away from his partner.

Stiles looks around worriedly before moving back to Derek, “You’re not swimming, buddy, trust me. You are legitimately crawling on your knees in public right now, **please** stand up.”

Derek grins and lays down on the road, “Who makes this shit?” He asks slowly.

“Oh my **God** ,” Stiles reaches up with both hands and tugs nervously on his hair, then moves to crouch down next to his partner, “This is bad, very **very** bad,” He says, even though it’s actually kind of nice to see the guy smile for once, “You’re tripping balls, this is perfect.”

“Yes it is,” Derek says as he starts rolling over the ground, holding the bag firmly in his hand, “It’s like everything is… _Everywhere_.”

“Excellent observation, my friend,” Stiles says sarcastically and tries to get the bag away from Derek, “Everything is, in fact, everywhere. Now will you please cooperate with me and get up so I can get your ass back to the bureau?”

Derek shakes his head and starts crawling under the car, “No,” He says, holding the bag and keeping it away from his partner, “Nope, no, no.”

“This is-what am I supposed to do?” Stiles asks himself and moves towards Derek again, reaching down to grab his ankles, straining and grunting as he tries to pull him back from going under the car, “No you’re not, you big lug. Come **on** , someone’s gonna call the cops or something and we’re both gonna get fired.”

“Stilinski,” Derek says in a mockingly dark tone, practically growling his partner’s name from under the car, “Relax, we’re the FBI, people can’t call cops on us.”

“They can,” Stiles points out and he’s pretty sure he’s beginning to break a sweat, tugging relentlessly on Derek’s ankles, “And they will, as soon as they see you crawling around out here like a fucking cat or something. Under different circumstances, I might even be happy for you that you actually broke your thirty-six year drug free bender, but this is seriously not funny.”

Derek kicks his shoes off and climbs under the car completely, moving under it until he’s out the other side and he stands up, “It’s raining?” He asks and stares up, eyes wide, “No shit.”

Stiles sighs and picks up Derek’s boots, then sits them on the hood of the car before moving to the older agent and looking up at him, “It’s not raining, Hale,” He tries telling him, even though he’s pretty sure he’s still not going to be able to get through to him, “The sun is shining and the sky is clear. We’re in broad daylight and you’re fucking balls to the walls nuts right now. We. Need. To go.”

“Stilinski,” Derek says as he turns to look at Stiles and drops his forehead to the other man’s shoulder, only it’s about a foot lower than he’s expecting, so he ends up hunched over awkwardly.

Stiles groans miserably because Derek’s forehead hits his shoulder a little harder than what the other agent realizes. He wraps one arm around the older man, patting his back as he tries to maneuver him to the car, “Come on, big guy, just a little this way and we can head back.”

“I don’t wanna go back,” Derek pouts, “I hate that place.”

“I know you do,” Stiles says, because Derek’s made that much painfully obvious before.

He tries to get both of his arms around his partner and grunts even more, chest heaving as he tries to get him to the car, “Goddamn, you’re heavy,” He complains.

“I don’t wanna go back,” Derek repeats, “I hate that place, Stilinski, you don’t understand. You think you understand but you don’t. I hate that place, everyone talking about me, and I can hear it all. People I’ve never even met talk about me. I don’t wanna go back, don’t make me go back.”

Stiles frowns then and kind of ducks down a little to try and look at his partner’s face, “Hey, I won’t take you back, okay?” He tells him, and feels oddly protective of the guy, “Are you hungry? If you get in the car, I’ll take you to Wendy’s.”

“Mmmm, okay,” Derek says as he grins and wraps his arms around Stiles, “Just don’t take me back to the office.”

“Oh-okay, big hug,” Stiles says nervously and pats the older man’s back, “Yeah, I got you, dude. I won’t take you back,” _yet_ , he thinks, “Now come on, I know a Baconator that has your name on it.”

Derek continues to hold the other man and grin, “This is nice… I haven’t hugged anyone in **years** , I think… You’re like this toothpick person.”

Stiles, in turn, thumps his forehead against Derek’s shoulder and continues to hug it out all awkwardly on the side of the road, “Hugging is good,” He says, “But food is better. And you’re hungry, remember?”

Derek shakes his head and turns to scent Stiles’s neck, grinning wider, “No, food isn’t better.”

Stiles all but yelps when Derek shoves his face to his neck and he tenses, “I dunno what I did to deserve this. You’re so fucking out of it, and you’re smiling, too. I dunno what to do with you.”

Derek turns finally to climb into the car, holding the bag in his hand still and looking down at it before he leans down and sniffs.

“No!” Stiles shouts and moves to the open car door and practically leans in to chastise the older man, “No, no, no! Bad!” He points to it and tries to wipe the powder off of Derek’s nose.

“Give it to me,” He says demandingly, raising his brows at his partner.

“Don’t-” Derek grabs Stiles’s hand and licks his fingers before promptly sitting on the bag and staring at the boy, “I thought I told you it was dangerous.”

Stiles’s eyes widen when Derek licks his fingers and he shivers a little, which is interesting, but he’s had about enough of the older man’s games, so he reaches under the agent’s ass and grabs the baggy, “I said give it to me, you stubborn shit.”

“Don’t touch it!” Derek shouts, grabbing Stiles’s hands and looking at him, “Don’t touch the stuff, Stilinski, don’t.”

“Let me have my hands back,” Stiles says firmly, “I’d really rather not stay in contact with your ass for too long, I may catch your asshole-itis.”

Derek chuckles and nods, letting Stiles’s hands go, but keeping the bag.

“Give me the baggy, Hale. If you don’t give me the baggy, then I’m not taking you to Wendy’s.”

“That’s your problem, not mine,” Derek shakes his head and looks at Stiles still, licking his lips, “I don’t want you to touch it, it's not safe.”

“Clearly!” Stiles cries out, gesturing to Derek, “Fucking look at yourself, you’re a mess and we’ve got a possible lead passed out, likely dead in your back seat. You need to get your shit together, man. Give me the drugs!”

“If she was dead,” Derek makes a flailing motion with his hands, “She would’ve shit **everywhere** ,” He pauses and turns, “She didn’t shit everywhere, did she?”

“Oh my God,” Stiles says again, “No good can come from this,” He shakes his head and shuts the car door, then moves around to the driver’s side, grabbing agent Hale’s boots before climbing in and buckling his seatbelt, tossing the shoes in the back floorboard, “If you won’t give me the baggy, then stay out of it, understood?”

“We can’t take her back, Stilinski,” Derek says as he drops his head back, “They can’t know we know what it is. They can’t know, or they’ll kill you.”

“That’s not really sounding so bad right about now,” Stiles says and starts the car, looking over the steering wheel and gear shift tentatively to get a good feel for things before he pulls out.

Derek shakes his head, “No, it’s a bad thing, it’s bad,” He stares up at the roof of the car, “I can’t see another person die, Stilinski, I can’t take it, I can’t.”

“Well, here’s to hoping they put me out of my misery while you’re not around, then,” Stiles says dismissively, still unsure of what he’s supposed to do. Thankfully, it’s still marginally early in the day, so maybe he can just keep Derek out until he sobers up.

“I can’t lose another partner,” Derek says lightly as his heart starts racing, “I’m already ‘crazy as Hale’, they already think I’m some insane serial killer. _Half the time I think they’re right._ ”

“They’re not **right** ,” Stiles shakes his head and drives carefully, “You’re not crazy and you’re not insane, but you’re acting like it right now.” He glances over at his partner and grimaces, “And you’re starting to sweat like crazy, which is kinda gross, dude.”

Derek starts pushing his socks along the floorboard, “Why can’t I pun on your name?” He ask as he looks at Stiles, “I’ve tried to think over about fifty million different puns, but they all sound horrible.”

“'Stilinski' isn’t an easy name to pun,” Stiles shrugs, “Sorry.”

“Don’t take me back there,” Derek says as he swallows nervously, “I hear them pun my name all the time, I can’t stand that place. I swear if I hear Jackson shit-face say one more thing about how I shot Boyd I’m gonna shove his fucking face into a wall.”

“Calm down,” Stiles chides lightly and glances over at Derek, “I’m not taking you back. I said I wouldn’t and I won’t, but I need you to at least try to sober up.”

Derek shakes his head, “I don’t trust you, I can even tell if you’re lying and I still don’t trust you. You do everything I don’t want you to do, you’re gonna take me back.”

“What do you mean you can tell if I’m lying?” Stiles asks in confusion, “I’m not taking you back, Hale. If I take you back like this, not only is it gonna be your ass on the line, but mine too.”

Derek chuckles and shifts in his seat, “Did I… Did I ever tell you why I hated being paired with you? I thought they were just-that I was some fucking joke,” He rolls his head to the side, “That the people in the bureau just think I’m this joke… They do, so that’s what I thought. They shafted me with this baby agent because they hated me the most.”

Stiles is aware of how Derek felt towards him when he first started his job, the way the older man acted then kind of made it all loud and clear, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt a little to know what his partner really thinks. He’d thought they were at least getting along now, but it turns out that the senior agent still kind of hates him just as much as he did on day one.

“Oh,” Stiles says softly and nods, trying not to say much else or make a big deal out of it.

“You’ll get better,” Derek mutters as he dries his palms on his pants legs, “My first assignment was worse than yours, I got my partner shot in the arm. If you don’t dig too much, and get yourself killed, you’ll be fine. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Right,” Stiles says dryly and he finds it somewhat humorous, considering Derek wants no part of it, “That’s oddly supportive, I think… Can I have the baggy now?”

“No,” Derek says at once, “I’ve told you, if you touch it… It’s poisonous for humans, and you’re young, you don’t need to touch it. It’s safer under my ass.”

Stiles sighs and figures that, if Derek doesn’t get into it anymore, maybe it’ll be fine, “I’m not **that** young,” He mumbles quietly under his breath as he pulls into Wendy’s, opting for the drive-thru instead of taking Derek in.

Derek pft's and rolls his eyes, “You’re really young,” He says pointedly, “You don’t need to get involved with drugs, you’re not some middle-aged broken agent that gets every single person around him killed; murdered by association.”

Stiles grits his teeth together and orders their food, parking in the opposite end of the restaurant’s parking lot before he cuts the engine and turns a little to look at Derek, “First of all, I’m twenty-six, only ten years younger than you - so no, I’m not **that** young. Secondly, I don’t _want_ to get involved with drugs, I only want them so I can keep them away from you…"

"And… And you’re not broken, alright? So stop the pity party,” He shoves the bag of food towards his partner, “And eat your damn food.”

Derek puts the bag on the floorboard, reaching down into it as he lays his temple against the dash and watches Stiles, “You ever been in bed and paranoid because you think something’s in the dark, so you cover yourself - even though it’s just a blanket and it’s stupid - but you feel comforted. Though, in reality you know that if something really **was** there you’d still be fucked?”

Stiles gapes at that a little and drops his hand with the bag of food still in it, “Yeah, who hasn’t? Why?”

Derek turns his forehead to the dash as he looks down in the bag, “I feel like that all the time, just… Walking around.”

“Yeah?” Stiles asks and he kind of feels guilty for even listening to Derek, because he knows these are things the guy would never tell him otherwise, “What’s your security blanket then?”

“I don’t have one,” Derek sighs as he grabs one of the burgers, “I have myself, that’s all I have.”

“You could have a life if you wanted one, Hale,” Stiles tells him, “I’ve encouraged you to get out and make lady friends. I’ve even offered for you to come out with me and Scott… You don’t **have** to be so alone all the time.”

“That’s not for me,” Derek says as he opens the package and stares at the burger for a moment before taking a bite, “I don’t want those things. What I want… I can’t have, and that’s…” He shrugs and sits back in his seat, “That’s that.”

Stiles shakes his head, because he doesn’t understand why someone wouldn’t want _friends_ of all things, “What exactly **do** you want?” He asks curiously.

Derek looks at Stiles and sits still, his hands in his lap, “Something I can't have," He admits, even though he knows he shouldn't, "It's strange. I want it so much that I don't care **what** I would have to do to get it, even though it's impossible. It’s all I can think about, and even though the thought of it is nice, it still makes me fucking miserable, because I know I can never have it.”

“What do you want?” Stiles asks again.

“I want my mom,” Derek says at once, turning to look at the ceiling of the car, “I wanna be able to wrap my arms around her and hold her for the rest of my life.”

Stiles swallows thickly, because what Derek says definitely hits home, “I feel you,” He empathizes and nods slowly, “I miss my mom, too.”

Derek blinks and sniffs slightly, “She was the only person that could make me feel small.”

“Yeah,” Stiles smiles fondly at the memory of his own mother, “Moms are pretty good at that, I suppose.” He’s decidedly not hungry, so he sits his own bag of food aside.

“Small, and important,” Derek says and chuckles, “And my sister, and my dad, and my younger sister. That’s what I want more than anything - **family**.”

  
[MageStiles](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/) ϟ [Sparklinski](http://sparklinski.tumblr.com/)  



	6. Consider Me Privileged

Stiles rests his forehead against the steering wheel and doesn’t look at the older man, because it’s bad enough he’s hearing all of this, but if he looks at the agent in such a vulnerable state, he’d feel even more guilty.

“I’m sorry you lost them,” He says, “Losing people you love sucks.”

“Nothing fills that void,” Derek agrees, “Friends, women, sex, **nothing** fills it.”

He shifts, “I didn’t know drugs had a downside, besides for being bad and addicting, I feel like I’m falling to pieces.”

“You’ll be okay,” Stiles insists plainly, “You’re probably just coming down.”

“I don’t wanna come down,” Derek says as he runs his thumb over the wrapper of the burger, “I come down and I start remembering that it’s all my fault, and that I have to go back to that fucking office and listen to them piss and moan about how I haven’t put a bullet in my head yet.”

That, for some ungodly reason, pisses Stiles off and he sits up to look at Derek, “Fuck them,” He says angrily.

“You’re an asshole, but you’re a good person. Don’t give them the fucking satisfaction of ending yourself or quitting,” He shakes his head, “You’ve got thick skin, I know you do, you put up with my bullshit. So let it go in one ear and out the other, because you’re better than most of the people who work there.”

“I’m not a good person, Stiles, I’m not,” Derek says, looking away, “Good people don’t get their families killed.”

He lets out a huff of breath, “Good people try to solve cases that have nothing to do with them, or constantly stand up to their wives about judging another person. I’m not a good person.”

Stiles feels his throat dry out at that and ignores the way the older man’s words make his chest hurt, “You **are** a good person,” He insists, “You’re your own worst critic, so just… Take my word for it, okay?”

“You and McCall see that, but I’d probably side with Martin,” Derek admits, “I don’t get what pushes you two to try and see the goodness in people. I hate it. I hate the both of you so much, all you ever do is try to help and it’s fucking infuriating.”

Stiles lets the older man’s hatred roll off of his shoulders, “I know what pushes me,” He says, unable to speak for Scott, “I try to find the good in people, in _you_ , because I know that if the roles were reversed… I’d want someone to see the good in me.”

Derek shrugs, “I stopped wanting that years ago,” He says back, sighing, “You can only hear so many bad things about yourself before they just start making sense. And you start seeing those things in yourself and that’s all you are. I don’t get this drug, I don’t think I snorted it right.”

“You didn’t really snort it, to be honest,” Stiles says, trying to get comfortable in his seat while Derek eats, “You kind of inhaled the shit, but seeing as you’re not crawling in the road saying you’re swimming or crawling under your car to get away from me, I’d say we’re probably in the clear now.”

“I want to,” Derek says and makes a vague motion with his hands, “I’m just feeling _everything_ right now, I’ve never been drunk before but I’m pretty sure it’d feel like this. I wanna fuck **everything**.”

“Wow, okay,” Stiles’s eyes widen, “This just went from depressing to weird in like, two point two. Try to keep it in your pants, yeah?”

“No, I probably will,” Derek shrugs, “I don’t just _expose_ myself, I’m fine here.”

“Good,” Stiles says slowly and nods, wishing his partner would just hurry and fucking sober up.

Derek shifts back in his seat and lays his head back, “You’re an okay FBI agent so far,” He says then, closing his eyes, “You just gotta get use to it. And you taunting the perps fucking kills me,” He starts chuckling, “That’s the best thing I’ve seen in years.”

Stiles is unable to stop from smiling then and he raises his brows, “Yeah? I’m so gonna remind you of saying this later. You’re gonna deny it so hard.”

“You get all squeaky and your face goes red,” Derek bursts into laughter, his face hurting as he drops his head back, “You called Joel Carbaugh inbred-looking.”

“Yep,” Stiles nods slowly and feels his cheeks heat inexplicably, “Sure did,” He confirms, “He was pretty pissed about me taking him down, huh?”

Derek finally dies down a little and nods, grinning wide, “Yeah, that felt good, he’s killed a few of our senior agents, and then he got owned by the newest recruit.”

“That **did** feel pretty good,” Stiles agrees, but then again, just about any job they do where they successfully bring someone in feels good.

“I got bitched out for bringing you into that,” Derek admits, raising his brows, “But they’re impressed by you, so that’s what matters. They put us on watch duty because you make the other agents look bad.”

“Seriously?” Stiles asks, feeling both proud of himself, but also kind of pissed off as well. He doesn’t really understand why they’d try to keep him from doing a good job.

Derek nods, “I didn’t tell you because I figured it’d upset you. No one wants to get treated like shit after being **good** , kicks the incentive right in the balls.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Stiles says and wonders if maybe he should say something to Deaton about it, “Thanks for telling me, anyway. I guess.”

“Don’t let it get to you, just keep proving them wrong,” Derek says as he turns a little on his side, “They’re likely just doing it to punish me, they hate me. It’s funny how it’s constantly unlucky and lucky, either way."

"Unlucky because you get my luck, lucky because I have experience, unlucky because I’m hated by everyone in the bureau, lucky because if there’s anyone that **can** stop you from getting shot, it’s me, unlucky because you’re trying to solve my last partner’s case - you probably actually **will** get shot.”

“Can we change the topic now?” Stiles asks and frowns, “You’re starting to get dangerously close to the whole depression territory again and while I actually kind of enjoy having these heart to hearts with you, I think we’ve had enough for one day.”

“If I remember any of this I’m gonna hate you so much,” Derek says as he pulls his knees up onto the seat a little and sighs, “It’s like I can’t shut my mouth up no matter how bad I want to.”

“It’s probably a good thing you already hate me, then,” Stiles chuckles, “Because even if you don’t remember, there’s no way I’m not gonna rub it all in your face… The amusing parts, anyway.”

Derek closes his eyes and mumbles softly, “We’re gonna have to hide the Blue Moon, they can’t know we know about it, Stilinski.”

“Which means I need you to trust me enough to hand it over,” Stiles says, “Because you can’t be trusted with it.”

“Neither can you,” Derek says back, opening his eyes and looking at Stiles sleepily, “It’s poisonous, half the people involved in cases have died from it,” He closes his eyes again as he starts drifting off, “ _I don’t want you to die_.”

Stiles feels his chest do that weird, constricting thing again and shakes his head, “I’m not gonna die, Hale,” He says, “I don’t do drugs nor do I want to, I just wanna put it up for safe keeping. I can’t let you get like this again.”

He glances over at the other agent when he doesn’t get a response and rolls his eyes, “Of course you passed out. _Awesome_.”

It’s the perfect opportunity to get the bag, though, even if he does feel like he’s violating the older man some how. He leans across the seat and very carefully slips his hand under Derek, watching his partner’s face to make sure he stays asleep as he cautiously pulls the baggy out from underneath of him and shoves it into his own pocket.

After a while, Derek opens his eyes and glances around before he realizes he’s sitting in the passenger’s side seat of his car, he looks at Stiles, and then down at the bag of food and his socks on his feet, “Where are my shoes?”

“In the back floorboard,” Stiles informs him and gestures with his thumb, finding it odd that Derek’s already acting somewhat sober - there’s no way he could’ve gotten the drug out of his system that quickly.

Derek opens the door and steps out, letting go of the frame of the door before falling backwards on his ass, “ _Ow_ ,” He mutters as he sits back upright and lets out a huff of breath.

Stiles climbs out of the driver's side, instinctively moving to his partner to help him up, “You okay?”

“I’m **fine** ,” Derek says as he pushes Stiles away and stands up, “Besides for the skull-splitting headache,” He moves to the back door and opens it to grab his shoes, “Oh fuck,” He says as he looks at the girl passed out in the car, “How did we get to Wendy’s?”

“In your car,” Stiles responds sarcastically, “I drove. You were tripping balls, hugs were had - it was fun,” He says dryly.

Derek frowns and slams the back door, turning to look at Stiles, “I was-I was what?” He asks as he rests his ass against the car and leans down to get his shoes back on.

“You were high as a fucking kite,” Stiles says, “Crawling in the middle of the road, trying to get up underneath your car to get away from me, and then you got all clingy and went spider monkey on me.”

“I got…” Derek looks down at the state of his clothes and narrows his brows, “Crawling in the middle of the fucking road? What the Hell happened?”

“She threw the bag of drugs at you when you asked for it,” Stiles glances towards the back seat, “But I guess the bag wasn’t closed, and your dumb ass pretty much inhaled it.”

Derek presses his hand to his forehead and moves around to the driver’s side of the car, “I feel like I got hit by a bus,” He mutters as he ducks into his seat and sighs in annoyance.

He barely even remembers cuffing the fucking moron in the back seat, let alone asking for the drugs, “Did we find out what it was?”

Stiles warily climbs into the passenger side seat and nods, “Yeah, you did - it’s called Blue Moon,” He tells his partner, “And considering the trip you had, I’m extremely grateful that you didn’t piss yourself like the tweak in the back, because I dunno if I could’ve handled that on top of everything else.”

“ _Blue Moon_ ,” Derek repeats the name, ignoring everything else Stiles is saying as he puts on his seat belt, “I guess that makes sense,” He rubs his nails through his beard and sighs in annoyance, “Why are we at Wendy’s?”

“Well... It's passed lunch time anyway, and I kinda had to bribe you with food to get you to stop hugging me,” Stiles says and grins at his partner, “You’re an extremely tactile person when you’re high, who knew?”

“I’m tactile in general, I just don’t **do** it,” Derek says shortly, rolling his eyes. His senses are still unusually dulled from, what he can only guess is, the drug's side effects; likely, “Where’s the bag now? We can’t have that thing around me.”

Stiles laughs a little manically then and shakes his head, “No way-there’s no way I’m telling you where it’s at, not after the shit storm I just had to endure… Not to mention your sweating.”

“I’m not asking for it,” Derek responds, “I don’t want it in the car, or anywhere near me. It’s not safe.”

He’s just glad he didn’t fucking kill someone or shift while he was out of it, “We’ve gotta question her, and we can’t take her to the office or anywhere else to do it. It has to be under the radar completely.”

“You mean **I’ve** gotta question her,” Stiles corrects him, torso twisting a little in his seat to look at Derek and then back to the perp, “You’ve made it pretty clear you don’t wanna be involved… I can just question her in your back seat or something and you can stand outside.”

Derek shakes his head, “You’re not doing this on your own. **We’ll** question her, if you’re gonna pursue this… Unofficial case, then you need backup to do it. I’m a senior agent.”

“A senior agent who didn’t wanna touch this fucking case with a ten foot pole,” Stiles says pointedly, even though the idea of handling it with Derek seems nice, “What changed your mind?”

“I can’t stop you from trying to solve it, so I might as well help since **both** our heads are on the line if the three men that killed my last partner catch even the slightest whiff of what we’re doing,” Derek says. It’s not a complete lie, the main reason is because of the drug itself and who it’s targeting, but it’s not like he can say that.

“And you don’t want me to die,” Stiles says smugly and flashes Derek a toothy grin, “Deny it all you want, buddy. I’ve seen your true colors.”

Derek frowns at the comment but doesn’t respond, he drives as calmly as possible, his body recovering quickly from the drug and eventually his senses start coming back.

He licks his lips and tightens his hands on the steering wheel as the smell of the car starts becoming recognizable and he listens to the girl in the back for a moment before glancing tentatively at Stiles as he hears her heart beats slowing irregularly.

Stiles can feel the eyes on him so he turns his head and looks at his partner with a raised brow, “What?” He shakes his head, unsure of why the older man is looking at him like that, “I didn’t eat, so I know I don’t have lettuce or burger stuck between my teeth.”

Derek glances around the area they’re in and he takes a quick right, down a more secluded road and stops the car, putting it in park and moving to the back. He opens the door and pulls the girl out carefully, not bothering to grimace as his hands touch her pant legs and he lays her flat on the road as he listens closely to her for her soft, slow heart beats again.

Stiles frowns in confusion and slowly climbs out, making his way around the car and looking down at the girl on the pavement as he puts his hands on his hips, “What the Hell are you doing, Hale?” He asks worriedly, because the last time his partner got out of the vehicle regarding the girl, things went south pretty quickly.

Derek ignores Stiles, quickly pulling off his jacket and loosening his tie to sling it over his shoulder as he leans in. Her body starts shaking uncontrollably and he reaches out quickly to hold her arms down, “Get her legs.”

“She pissed herself!” Stiles argues, but moves to crouch down by her ankles, anyway, “Why do I get the fucking legs?” He asks in irritation and puts his palms against her shins in an attempt to hold her down.

Derek turns her quickly onto her side, unbuttoning the top buttons of her shirt and reaching down to get her belt as she starts puking and he turns his head away and holds his breath in disgust, _nice_.

Stiles grimaces, looks away as well and shakes his head, “What the fuck are we even doing?” He asks, beyond confused, “How did you know to pull over?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Derek says dismissively and looks at Stiles as the girl stills, “Open the trunk, I have a couple towels back there. If we’re lucky, she’ll be okay, maybe she’s gotten it out of her system,” He glances at the vomit and lets out a huff of breath in frustration, “I dunno how she took it.”

“Well, if she snorted it, then I doubt her yacking all over the place is gonna help any,” Stiles says and lets go of the girl’s shins to move to the driver’s side of the car, leaning in through the window to pop the trunk before moving to it to grab some towels.

“So here’s to hoping she’s too mentally inept to know how to do drugs right,” He sighs and moves back to Derek with the towels.

Derek takes one to clean her face and turn her back over, putting her in the recovery position as he tucks the second towel under her head and sits back. He looks behind them and around again, “We should’ve never picked her up in the first place. If someone hasn’t seen us and reported us for **my** response to the drug, I doubt we’ll be lucky this time.”

“She’s been passed out in the back of your car pretty much the entire time, laying down,” Stiles tries to reassure the senior agent, “I seriously doubt anyone even saw you put her in the car. If any attention was drawn to us, it was definitely because of you.”

“I was high!” Derek says, like it justifies anything, it sounds bad regardless, “I can’t be held accountable for anything that happened, it’s not like I took it willingly.”

“Says the agent who literally shoved his face into the bag and then refused to give it to me,” Stiles mocks, snorting at the older man, “I’m gonna hold this over your head for a long time, dude.”

Derek rolls his eyes and glances down at the girl, “How are we supposed to deal with a lead without looking questionable? What are we supposed to do with her **afterwards**?”

“Drop her back off where we picked her up?” Stiles guesses, “I dunno, man. Even sober, I doubt she’d be able to identify us.”

“She’s lucky to be alive,” Derek says as he glances at the cars driving by the road and he leans down to pick her up, putting her in the back seat carefully, “We’ll go to my place, I need to change anyways, she can get cleaned up once she wakes up and then we can question her.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Stiles nods and moves back around the car before climbing back in, “I’ve never really seen your place before, anyway. We’re partners, I should know where you live, it’s part of the partner code… I’m sure of it.”

Derek rolls his eyes again and closes the door, moving to the front seat and climbing in, “Boyd never saw it,” He says as he puts his jacket in the back, not bothering with it for now as he puts his tie back in place and starts the car.

“Well then I consider myself privileged,” Stiles says sardonically, “You should know where I live, too. And you should meet Heather, that way she’ll understand the shit I put up with on a daily basis.”

“I don’t think your wife would be comfortable knowing there’s a girl in the back seat that’s pissed herself and had a seizure,” Derek responds sarcastically.

“She’s not my wife,” Stiles corrects his partner and shakes his head, “And I’m not saying we should go there now. I’m just saying I think it makes sense for her to meet my partner. It does, it makes sense.”

Derek frowns as he pulls out of the secluded road and back onto the main one, it doesn’t make much sense to him, most people leave their work at work, and partner or not, Derek’s included as part of Stiles’s work environment. Mixing the two isn’t safe.

“Will you stop frowning and acting like a kicked puppy,” Stiles says, “I’m not gonna make you do anything, but she makes a mean lasagna and I think you should come over for dinner sometime.” Considering the older man wouldn’t even go out for a beer with both him and Scott, he doesn’t really see Derek wanting to meet Heather.

“Sometime,” Derek says in hopes that it shuts Stiles up. They’re not too far from his house, fortunately, and the sooner the boy stops trying to force him into awkward social greets, the better.

“Awesome,” Stiles beams and shifts excitedly in his seat, “This is what I call growth, Hale.”

Derek glances at Stiles and then down to the bag in the floorboard, “Hand me one of those burgers,” It’s probably because of the drugs, but he literally feels like he could eat a cow, bones and all.

Stiles digs around in the bag and pulls out the one Derek didn’t practically slobber all over before handing it to him, “Saying please never really hurt anyone, you know.”

Derek glares at Stiles as he grabs the burger and then looks back at the road, opening it with one hand and taking a bite.

As far as he’s concerned, the entire fucking mess is Stiles’s fault, he wouldn’t have been smacked in the face with a drug made specifically for his kind if the boy hadn’t pissed and moaned about checking on the girl in the first place.

“Or not,” Stiles says and shakes his head, crossing his arms as he wets his lips, “That’s cool, too.”

“Another?” Derek asks once he’s all but inhaled the first and reaches out again.

“Sure, Thor,” Stiles looks at Derek and snorts before pulling out another one, “You’re lucky I know your obscene eating habits, I could’ve just gotten you one and been done with it.”

Derek grabs the second burger, ignoring the younger man as he takes a right, driving slowly down the next road before turning left into his driveway and he parks the car. He eats the burger quickly, reaching passed Stiles for the bag and climbing out of his side.

Stiles climbs out warily and glances around, taking in their surroundings as he closes the door and looks at his partner from over the hood of the car, “Why does it not surprise me that you live in the shady part of town?”

Derek moves to the back and opens the door, tucking the bag under his left biceps as he takes his jacket, slinging it over his forearm before he pulls the girl out and into his arms.

He pushes the door closed, keys in his hands as he locks the car and walks to his front door as he glances around at the other houses around. It probably looks suspicious, but they know he’s an FBI agent, so maybe anyone that sees them won’t think twice about it.

Stiles sighs and follows behind Derek, burying his hands into his pockets as he waits on his partner to unlock his front door, “You need to work on your verbal communication,” He tells him, “I think I prefer you more when you’re high, at least things aren’t so one-sided then.”

“Get over it,” Derek says shortly as he opens the door and moves into his house, toeing off his shoes at the front door and moving into the living room to lay the girl down - trash bag and all - onto the couch in front of the windows before he draws the curtains and straightens back up.

He tosses the Wendy’s bag into his chair as he takes off his tie, “You can watch her for a couple minutes on your own?”

Stiles watches the older man remove his tie and nods, glancing away after a moment before moving to the recliner to plop down, “I got it, Chief. Go get clean.”

Derek lifts a brow at the weird nickname before unbuttoning his shirt as he walks into his bedroom, not bothering to turn on the light as he takes off his shirt and tosses it onto the bed, “Watch her breathing.”

“I know how to keep an eye on someone, Hale,” Stiles retorts and rolls his eyes at his partner as he rocks himself in the recliner, “Just shut up and get changed already.”

  
[MageStiles](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/) ϟ [Sparklinski](http://sparklinski.tumblr.com/)  



	7. Serial Killer House

Derek grabs a clean dress shirt from his closet, snatching up one of his ties and leaving them both on the bed as he takes off his pants.

Even though Stiles is watching the girl in the other room, he still listens as intensely as possible, making sure she’s fine. After all the shit they’ve went through just getting her here, it’d be fucking ironic she died or something, most do. Wolfsbane **is** poisonous.

Stiles makes himself comfortable in the recliner and turns, draping his legs over one side as he lets his head fall back against the other, looking at the walls and frowning at how bare they are. It’s to be expected, though, given the fact that his family burned to death. Not only would it be painful to have the reminders hanging everywhere, but all of the pictures probably burned up with the fire as well.

Derek dresses quickly, hopefully no one will notice he’s wearing different clothes, but considering they probably think he only wears one set in general - he’s heard as much said before - no one will say a thing.

He tucks his shirt into his pants, putting on his belt, his tie, and his jacket before he moves back into the living room, sitting in his seat and setting the Wendy’s bag on the ground by it. The last person that was in his house was over three years ago, it’s kind of weird to have Stiles and this girl here, “We can’t wait for too long, she’s taken enough time - our field report is gonna be sketchy.”

Stiles stretches and almost falls out of the chair before he pushes himself back up into an upright position, “Okay, I’ll wake her up,” He says, carding his fingers through his tousled hair before moving to crouch in front of the couch, shaking the girl’s arm gently, “Wake up,” He raises his voice.

Derek watches as she stirs and turns over onto her side, opening her eyes and looking at them before she sits up and moves away from Stiles.

She’s jittery and glancing around the house as she makes a face, “Qué chingados?”

“Who’s your dealer?” Stiles asks, getting straight to the point as he stands up and stares down at the girl, “And don’t play dumb with me, you know what I’m fucking talking about.”

“Chingate,” The girl says as she looks away and sniffs quickly, licking her lips as she glances around, “What kind of fucking crazy serial killer’s house is this?”

“Try **FBI agent** ,” Stiles corrects her and gives her a serious, pointed look, “And if you don’t tell us what we need to know, we’re gonna lock you up for possession,” He bluffs.

Derek watches as the girl looks down at herself then and shrugs, she doesn’t seem to be taking her situation as seriously as she should be. Considering she had a seizure and she very well could’ve died, you’d think she’d be open enough to give them _something._

“If you tell us who they are, you can get cleaned up and we’ll put you right back where you were when we found you.”

The girl looks up at Derek and narrows her brows, “Give me one reason I should trust you.”

“Because we could’ve let you choke on your own vomit and die, but we didn’t,” Stiles says and raises his brows, “Just tell us who your dealer is and we’ll let you go.”

“Sable,” The girl says finally and looks away, crossing her arms, “Can I shower now?”

Derek nods and motions back behind him, “Third door on the right,” He watches her as she stands up and takes off her shoes.

She holds them in her hands as she passes him and goes to the bathroom, all but slamming the door and he hears the lock click in place. He’s not sure if he should’ve warned her otherwise, or if he’s glad she’s got the common sense to actually do it at all.

“Sable,” Stiles repeats once the girl is in the bathroom and he looks at Derek in confusion, “Why does that name sound so familiar?” He asks.

“That’s her 'dealer name', you’ve probably heard it plenty of times around the office,” Derek says as he takes his seat again, “Denise Lynn.”

“What?” Stiles shakes his head and makes the recliner squeak with the force of him slinging his body back into it, “Who’s that?”

Derek rolls his eyes, “Sable,” He says as he takes the third burger out of the bag, “We think, but we haven’t been able to pin anything on her, she’s got a clean record.”

“If she’s a dealer, there’s gotta be some dirt on her somewhere,” Stiles all but hikes his left leg up onto the back of the seat, right arm hanging off the front.

“The best we’ve got is in the bathroom right now,” Derek mutters as he bites into his burger, “Maybe she’ll be more willing to talk after she’s cleaned up some.”

“She looks like a tweaker, maybe if you offer her some food or something she’ll spill,” Stiles shrugs, lifting his left arm to drape it over his face, “This recliner’s really nice, you should let me have it.”

Derek glances at the boy sitting in the other seat and has half a mind to tell him to sit in it properly, but he doesn’t bother, chewing slowly as he listens to the girl in the bathroom. He wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to escape, she wouldn’t really get far, but he’d like to not have to chase her down - chances are she’d be less likely to talk if he ended up accidentally crushing her ribcage.

“This is the part where you say ‘ _Sure, Stiles, take my recliner as a gift of gratitude for being the new, upstanding partner you are_ ’,” Stiles mocks Derek’s voice in order to keep himself entertained until the girl is done.

“No it’s not,” Derek says at once, leaning down to sift through the bag and pull out one of the boxes of fries, they’re probably as cold as ice now, but he doesn’t particularly mind.

“It **is** ,” Stiles insists and shakes one of his legs to rock himself, “It so is, I’d probably treat it better than you, anyway. You probably don’t even appreciate it.”

Derek stares at Stiles as he hears the water in the shower turn off, the girl stepping out of it and then he frowns when he hears her take **his** towel, wrap it around herself and walk out of the bathroom.

“I’m not wearing those clothes again,” She says stiffly as she moves to sit on his couch, dripping from head to foot as she looks at them, “You dick heads want more answers, don’t you?”

Stiles jerks up quickly in order to seem more professional, “You’re damn right we do,” He says, crossing his arms and looking at Derek, “Give her a pair of your clothes or something, we can’t do this with her half naked.”

“She’s four foot nine,” Derek says and motions to her, “My shirts would fall off her shoulders.”

The girl looks at Derek, glancing him over as she smiles, “I wouldn’t **mind** that. You’re a pretty big boy.”

Stiles narrows his eyes at the girl, trying to keep his gaze from turning into a glare, “Shut up,” He says, then looks back at Derek, “What are we supposed to do then?” He asks, “It’s not like we can take her back in a towel… Do you have anything that’d fit me? I could give her my clothes, they’d probably fit better.”

The girl rolls her eyes, still watching Derek, “Just get me one of your shirts, that’s all I need. I’m a woman, _I will make it fit_ ,” She says suggestively.

Derek sighs in annoyance and stands up, walking passed Stiles, “Don’t let your guard down,” She’d seemed so innocent and stupid when she was asleep, now he’s starting to wonder _what_ he brought into his house.

Stiles nods at Derek but keeps his eyes intent on the girl, standing there solidly as he crosses his arms.

“He is your partner?” The girl asks as she smiles at Stiles, holding the towel in place.

“Yeah,” Stiles answers flatly, not bothering to return the smile - he’s not that amused with her right now, anyway.

“He’s **big** ,” She continues, “Like a bear or something,” She raises her brows then, “Oh, he’s your _partner_. No wonder the agents are so jittery.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” Stiles narrows his brows and shakes his head, “We’re not jittery. If anyone is jittery, it’s you, you fucking druggy.”

“ _Oh_ , 'druggy', that’s a cute name - I’m offended,” The girl says and fakes looking affronted.

It's amusing that they've seemed to just assume she's a 'druggy', and probably a prostitute as well, without even really asking her for a license (which she wouldn't be able to supply anyways, because she doesn't **have** one) or at least wanted to know her name and age. She was probably just in the wrong spot at the right time.

Maybe if she works them well enough and doesn't hint to her actual age, she won't get in deep shit with her mama - the last thing she needs to know is that her daughter was tweaked out of her mind, wandering around in the streets and got picked up by two feds.

“Save it for someone who cares, _muerdealmohadas_.”

She shifts in her seat and leans in, “Just tell me, I wanna know, a man like that’s gotta have some **crazy** appetite for sex, 'uh? He could just toss you around like a doll, 'uh?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Stiles says tightly and doesn’t bother holding the glare back anymore, “He’s my work partner, you moron - not my life partner.”

She nods as she sits back and grins as Derek walks back into the room, “Shame,” She says as she looks at the giant, “Or maybe that means he’s straight.”

Derek ignores the comment and hands her the smallest shirt he could find that wasn’t one of his dress shirts. It’ll still be gigantic on her, but she said it was what she wanted, so he’s not going to argue it.

He sits down in his seat and then almost gasps as she stands up, dropping the towel completely to put the shirt on.

Stiles chuckles at Derek’s reaction and turns calmly to put his back to the girl, “Look at you, acting all virginal.”

Derek glares back at Stiles as the girl runs her hands over the front of the shirt she’s wearing now and he’s not surprised when it almost reaches her knees. The collar of it falls off one shoulder and she leans down, lifting it a little and smelling it before she sits again.

“Danks, see, no biggie - I’ve worn less outside,” The girl says and Derek narrows his brows when he realizes she isn’t lying, “So, whaddya wanna know?”

Stiles turns back around to face the girl once she starts talking and shrugs, “Where can we find Sable?”

“Whaddya want from her?” The girl asks back, narrowing her eyes, “You don’t think I’d rat out my dealer to you two, or you’re fuckin’ stupider than I thought.”

Derek shakes his head, “We’re open to letting her pass this time if she gives us some information about the distributor of your 'seizure drug'.”

“Blue Moon?” She raises her brows in surprise, “That’s caught the attention of the FBI?”

“It has some pretty nasty side effects,” Stiles says and nods, “A lot of people have been dying because of it. So yeah, it’s caught our attention.”

The girl nods silently and crosses her arms over her chest as she leans back, “I got some terms,” Derek makes a nod with his head for her to continue, “You drop me off where I was, an' you don’t follow me after. You question Sable, and no matter what she tells you, you don’t take her in. You do that, an' I’ll tell you where you can find her.”

“Done,” Derek says at once.

The girl smiles and gives him a look, “You’re so willin’, tigre,” She says and looks at Stiles then, “Her name is Denise Lynn.”

Stiles rolls his eyes at the nickname the girl gives his partner, “Okay, give us an address,” He demands.

The girl stands up from her seat and moves to Derek, lifting her brow, “Mind sharin’, osito? I’m starvin’.”

Derek reaches down to the bag and stills when she suddenly sits down in his lap. He gives her a pointed look as she smiles and then has to resist the urge to shove her off of him as he hands the bag to her.

“Or you can ignore me and do that,” Stiles nods and grimaces, he doesn’t particularly like her acting this way and he has half a mind to yank her off of his partner.

“I gave you a name,” The girl says as she sifts through the bag and takes one of the burgers, “If you want an address, you gotta give me somethin’ else.”

Derek looks at Stiles warily, he’s beginning to get the feeling that the girl **knows** what they’re doing is under the radar, but considering she’s at his house and not in the slammer, that’s probably painfully obvious by now. As if he didn’t already regret climbing out of the car to check on her before.

Stiles flails a little and gestures to her, “What else could you possibly want?” He asks, voice getting all squeaky, “We saved your life, we let you get cleaned up and now you’re making yourself at home on my partner’s lap and eating his food. I feel like we’ve given you enough.”

The girl turns in Derek’s lap, her ass rubbing against the crotch of his pants as she looks at Stiles, “You’re wantin’ the home address of my dealer, you gotta expect a girl to take what she **can** when you want that kind of information.”

Derek clears his throat, “You’re pushing your luck.”

“And you’re dealin’ with someone without actually havin’ a case against her,” The girl says as she looks between them both, “I know how this works, boys, I’m not stupid. You got nothin’ on me, I’m not a lead, I’m not wanted for questioning. So you give me what I want, an’ then I give you what you want, an’ then we all go home happy.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Stiles asks suddenly, getting a little more than fed up with the girl at this point.

The girl looks at Derek and lifts her brows in suggestion, “I want you, that’s what I want.”

Derek narrows his eyes and shakes his head, “That’s not how this works. I’m not an option.”

Stiles is about to agree with Derek, but then he frowns and gapes a little, “Him? Why **him**? What’s wrong with me?” He asks defensively.

“Nothing’s wrong with you, bebe-chico,” The girl says, giggling, “But seein’ as he’s the nice cop,” She motions to Derek, “And, well I don’t think you’d disagree, a girl’s gotta have a man that big at **some** point in her life, right?”

“He’s not a ‘nice cop’,” Stiles informs her, crossing his arms, “I’m the nice one, not him… And you might as well forget it, he’s not gonna have sex with you.”

“Why not?” The girl asks, looking between them, “You’re not _partners_ , and he’s **clearly** single, now that I’ve seen his bathroom, I think that’s pretty obvious. And I know you got a dick,” She looks at Derek then, “I can feel it.”

Derek isn’t one to get uncomfortable, or embarrassed, but his cheeks heat at the comment and he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. If this were official business, he’d cuff the fuck out of her and take her in, but she’s the only lead they have, and he’s literally not sure how to handle the situation.

“It doesn’t matter if he’s single or not,” Stiles all but growls out at the stupid cunt, “He’s not gonna whore himself out to you for more information, so you can fucking forget it.”

He glances at Derek then with raised brows, “Right?”

Derek looks at the girl and shakes his head, “I’m not an option,” He repeats and sees her frown.

She shifts in his lap again, “I guess you’re gettin’ nothin’ else outta me,” She stands up, leaving the bag in his lap as she moves back to the couch, “Whadda waste.”

Stiles lets out a frustrated huff of breath and kicks Derek’s coffee table, turning around to pace a little, “We got a name, maybe we don’t need the address,” He says hopefully, looking at Derek somewhat disappointingly, “We should take her back.”

“We shouldn’t have picked her up in the first place,” Derek says and stands up, then lowers his voice as he leans close to Stiles, “She might not know our names, but she knows our faces,” He raises his brows, “ **Especially** mine.”

“We needed the information,” Stiles says in a harsh whisper, looking up at Derek, “Do you think she’ll say something?” He asks seriously.

Derek shrugs, “She could say anything, with her lifestyle, anyone could bribe her easily. Or if _other_ people find out about this and go to her with a couple hundred bucks, why wouldn’t she?”

“What the fuck are we supposed to do then?” Stiles asks and he’s trying his solid best not to worry too much, “You know we needed the information… And now we’re fucked.”

“I’ve been arguing that possibility since the first time you started asking questions,” Derek says back.

“You two maricones done squabbling?” The girl asks suddenly, “I wanna go already, I got better things to do than sit here listenin’ to you two.”

Stiles looks away from Derek and glares at the girl, “Would you shut the fuck up and let us discuss how to keep you from running your damn mouth?”

“I gave you my terms,” The girl says, raising her brows and smiling, “I could forget a couple faces like yourselves, if you give me what I want. I could even be convinced to include the address as a bonus.”

Stiles bites on his bottom lip for a moment and thinks it over and, as shady and morally fucked up as it is, he still can’t think of another solution. He looks at Derek then and pats his partner on the chest, offering a weak, sympathetic smile, “Use protection, big guy.”

Derek frowns and glances at Stiles’s hand before looking at him, “Are you fucking kidding? That’s a case of crabs away from being prostitution.”

“We don’t have any other options,” Stiles tells him and belatedly remembers to remove his hand from his partner’s person, “And crabs are curable, take one for the team.”

The werewolf looks at Stiles incredulously and he lets out a huff of breath, “ **You’re** the one that got us into this situation in the first place, why am **I** the one that has to ‘take one for the team’?”

“Because I have a girlfriend,” Stiles says pointedly, “I’ve been with her for ten years, I don’t plan on cheating now. You’re single and you said it yourself, we’re in this together now, so man up.”

Derek looks warily at the girl on the couch and he can’t get out of his mind how he’s seen her piss herself, have a seizure, and puke her guts out, and now his own fucking partner is expecting him to _perform_.

Stiles looks at the girl as well and grimaces, side glancing Derek as he pats him on the back, “I’d go for doggy if I were you, at least you won’t have to look at her face.”

Derek doesn’t mention that that’s probably the _only_ option, he **does** have a knot. He’s risking more than Stiles has any clue of just by considering this. Then again, he hasn’t had sex in years, maybe he needs it, which is about the brightest side he can find.

He sighs and looks at Stiles then, “I’m not taking this for the team, you’re paying me back, I don’t fucking care how, but you are.”

“That’s a little closer to prostitution,” The girl says, smiling and standing up as she moves to Derek, looking up at him and reaching out for his arm, “Come on, potro.”

“No kissing,” Stiles says authoritatively, looking more at Derek than the girl as he moves back to the chair and snags the iPod off of the side table to blur out the inevitable sounds, “And for fuck’s sake, don’t forget to wrap it up!” He yells.

“Shut the fuck up, Stilinski,” Derek responds as he leads the girl into the guest room, there’s no fucking way he’s having sex with her in **his** bed.

Stiles chuckles to himself and puts the little earbuds into his ears, then flips through the older man’s playlist to find something loud. He settles on AC/DC and actually reclines the chair, opting for a nap while he waits.

_(If you wanna read the sex scene it's over[here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1290580), but I cut it out just in case readers weren't privy to it)_

Derek tries to keep it as short, and not as sweet as some might think it would be, as possible. It’s been a while, which makes it easier and he just kind of zones out halfway through. He’s careful to keep her head turned away, even when he’s dressing afterwards and rolls his eyes when she puts back on the large shirt, stretching and wobbling out into the living room, sitting on the couch as he stands and reaches for his own shirt.

Stiles pulls his arm off of his face when he’s sure he hears movement over the music and looks around, sitting up as he pulls the earbuds out and looks at the girl, “We good now?”

The girl grins as she sits back and nods, “The bad part of town, Beverly, third house on the left.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says dryly and feels kind of guilty that he had to subject his partner to all of this, but hopefully it’ll end up being worth it, “The stench of sex is wafting out of the bedroom into the living room!” He says loudly so Derek will hear, “You could’ve closed the door when she walked out!”

“He was putting his dick back in his pants,” The girl responds and lifts her brows, “I don’t wanna be dropped off where I was before, you guys can drop me off at the little diner on the end of thirteenth.”

Derek rolls his eyes as he listens to them, standing up to put his jacket and paddle holster back on.

“That’s completely out of our way,” Stiles says and shakes his head, “In the opposite direction of which we’ll be going, no dice.”

“I wasn’t askin’ for dice,” The girl responds smartly.

Derek walks into the front room, glaring at the two of them as he starts buttoning his cuffs, “We can do it, it’s fine,” He says dismissively and looks at Stiles, “We’ve missed enough time today, we can follow up tomorrow.”

Stiles splutters a little and stands up, “I don’t wanna follow up tomorrow, I wanna do it today,” He argues.

“We’ve already missed enough work,” Derek says firmly, “The gap is gonna be hard enough to explain without going out and talking to her dealer, it can wait, Stilinski.”

The girl smiles and watches Derek, her eyes running over him, “Sounds fine to me, I don’t care either way, just get me to thirteenth.”

“Shut up,” Stiles tells the girl and looks back to Derek, “We shouldn’t be putting it off, what if she warns her dealer and then we can’t find her?”

“She won’t,” Derek responds and looks at the girl, “ _Will you_?”

She shakes her head, “No, I won’t,” She looks between them, “As long as you keep your promise that you won’t take her in, she’s got four kids to feed, you fuck her over an’ I’ll fuck you both over.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “We just want to question her, that’s it.”

Stiles looks between both his partner and the girl, and the imagery that comes to mind kind of makes him want to barf, “Whatever,” He sighs, shaking his head as he moves towards the front door, crossing his arms, “You can believe her, but I don’t. I’ll just do it on my own fucking time.”

“No, you won’t,” Derek says firmly as he opens the door for them both and he grabs Stiles’s forearm, looking him in the eyes, “After what I just did, for **your** benefit, you’ll wait, and we’ll go together tomorrow.”

Stiles grits his teeth together and yanks his arm away from Derek, aggravated that it’s being put off, “Fine, but if the dealer catches word of us paying her a visit and splits, I’m blaming it on you,” He says, rolling his eyes as he walks out of the house and heads for the car.

Derek can’t begin to imagine how weird it is for two men in suits to be walking with a girl wearing only a large shirt, anyone looking is liable to say something, but it can’t really be avoided.

He opens the back door, holding it there for her and closing it once she’s inside, then he moves to his own, opening it and climbing in as he lets out a huff of breath, “You work at the diner?”

The girl nods, “Yeah,” She says shortly and glances out the window, “Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.”

“Good,” Stiles mumbles and slouches sourly in his seat, “That way we’ll know where we can find you if you go against your word.”

Derek doesn’t bother trying to reassure his partner, he’s asked a few times already to be sure, and he spent half the time they were fucking talking to her, figuring it was the best thing to do to pass the time. He pulls out onto the road and starts off, idly reaching up to scratch at his beard before he cracks the window a little.

After a few moments of silence, Stiles glances over at Derek and pulls a face, “You reek, by the way,” He says, “Don’t be surprised if someone smells the sex on you when we get back.”

“About time they did,” The girl from the back speaks up, smirking, “ _They should get use to it_.”

Derek keeps his eyes on the road, the smell can’t really be helped, they’ve wasted enough time today and if he showers midday and comes back into the office it’ll look bad. Not that going in there smelling like sex is any better, but Whittemore does _that_ all the time.

Stiles looks back at the girl and scoffs, “Right,” He says, “How are they supposed to get used to it when he hardly ever gets laid? I’m pretty sure you broke his dry spell, congratulations.”

“Happy to be of service,” The girl responds and brushes her fingers over the soft fabric of the shirt, “How long did you say it was, Derek, like three years or somethin’?”

“About,” Derek answers and takes a left once the light changes.

Stiles’s eyes snap to Derek then and he stares at his partner incredulously, “You fucking told her your name? Are you an idiot?” He glances back at the girl, then back to the older man, “ **And** you told her something as personal as how long it’s been since you’ve had sex… What else did you tell her? Your social security number?”

“She saw my badge,” Derek says dismissively, “Yeah, we talked-”

“We talked a lot,” The girl elaborates, “We talked about Blue Moon and shit. Derek’s very talkative in bed, and so touchy. It was like his hands were _everywhere_.”

Stiles doesn’t know why all of that pisses him off, but it does and he’s never been very good at hiding his anger, “So you’ll talk to pretty much a complete stranger while you’re fucking her, but you only actually really talk to me when you’re high. That’s fucking golden. And it was just sex, all you needed to do was put your dick in her, was the touching even necessary?”

“You’re so jealous,” The girl observes, “You want his dick in you, muerdealmohadas, just admit it."

“Christy,” Derek glances back and looks at her pointedly, “What I did,” He turns to Stiles, “What I _do_ isn’t your business. It’s intimate, and I figured if I talked to her, she’d open up, and she did.”

“Yeah, she opened up alright,” Stiles responds bitterly, throwing the girl a pissy look, “And you know what? I **am** jealous, but not for the reason you’re thinking. You hardly know him and I’m his fucking partner, yet he opens up more to you.”

He glares at Derek then, “That’s seriously shitty.”

“You’ve been his partner only a week,” Christy says and waves it off, “You’re just as much a stranger to him as I am. And besides, women have an effect on men. Don’t take it so personal, _Stilinski_.”

Stiles clenches his jaw and fights the urge to launch himself into the back seat to strangle the girl, “Can’t believe you fucking told her how long I’ve been your partner,” He utters quietly, still inexplicably pissed at Derek.

“You have a girlfriend, don’t you, Stilinski?” Christy asks rhetorically as she leans in between the two front seats to look at him, “You can’t tell me that she doesn’t have a different bond with you, because of the difference in relationships. She’s your _girl_ , that’s different than partners in crime, no pun intended.”

Stiles turns to look at her, “You’re not his fucking girlfriend!” He yells at her, “Jesus Christ, cut the 'better than thou' bullshit and sit back in your seat before I break my vow to not hit a female.”

Derek sighs in annoyance, because either way he looks at this situation, there’s no winning involved. He gives Stiles a pointed look, “Stop threatening her, don’t you realize that you’re acting like a child?”

“What the fuck ever, dude,” Stiles shakes his head, ignoring the older man’s pointed look, because for all he cares, his partner can fucking shove it.

It’s bullshit that it took **drugs** to get Derek to open up to him and all it took for him to spill his entire life story to _Christy_ was for him to get his dick wet. It’s fucked up.

Derek pulls over at the diner and lets Christy out of the back, shutting the door and climbing back into his seat but he doesn’t take off at once. He turns to look at Stiles, narrowing his brows, “What’s your problem?”

“You!” Stiles snaps and tries to keep himself from flailing all over the place, “I get that you hate me, but Jesus fucking Christ. I mean, you’ve known her for less than a day and you told her personal details about shit like how long I’ve been your partner... It took you like a week to say more to me than ‘Shut the fuck up, Stilinski’. I’m your **partner** , Hale, and you’d rather open up to a tweaked out tramp.”

“I didn’t open up to her,” Derek responds, “Telling her what I told her, that’s not opening up. Opening up is talking about my family, or Boyd - you don’t know what you’re talking about, Stilinski, if you think things like you being my partner for a few weeks is personal.”

“It’s still personal,” Stiles argues, “You fuck her and then you’re on a first name basis, it’s just unnerving how chummy you were with her afterwards. That’s all I’m fucking saying.”

Derek shakes his head, “You’re not ‘just saying’ anything, you threatened to hit a woman because I was ‘chummy’,” He stares at Stiles, “Maybe you should keep in mind that she nearly died today and she was passed out in the back of our car. Maybe you should have some sympathies and give her some respect instead of treating her like an animal.”

“First of all, I didn’t threaten to hit her because you were chummy with her,” Stiles tells him, “I threatened to fucking hit her - not that I would’ve in the first place - because she was taunting me and treating me like some inconsolable idiot.”

He draws in a breath and furrows his brows, “Secondly, I’m not gonna give some manipulative druggy some sympathy just because you put your dick in her. You can go fuck yourself.”

“I don’t expect you to treat her that way because I had sex with her,” Derek responds, “I’ve been treating her with respect since I walked up to check on her when she was out of her mind. That’s how **I** treat everyone, and that’s how I expect **you** to treat them, as my partner. The way you act to others reflects on me, and when you try to play ‘bad cop’ like you did after she woke up, it gets you nothing in return - take it from someone that has been there. And stop being sensitive and bitter because you feel entitled.”

“None of this is even gonna be in the books, Hale,” Stiles says and looks away, “So just shut the fuck up about it and let’s go back to the office. The sooner I can actually go home and get the fuck away from you, the better.”

Derek narrows his brows, “No, it’s not gonna be in the books, and you’re lucky it won’t be, because you’re getting the chance to stop making yourself look like a fucking moron early.”

“Okay, _dad_ ,” Stiles grits out childishly, “Just fucking go already.”

The comment hits the wrong kind of note for Derek and he turns in his seat, looking forward as he pulls back onto the road roughly, clenching his jaw tightly as he stares ahead.

  
[MageStiles](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/) ϟ [Sparklinski](http://sparklinski.tumblr.com/)  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made a Blue Moon edit over [here](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/tagged/Blue-Moon-Edits).


	8. A Bad Man

While putting together leads the next morning, Derek adds the directions Christy supplied the day before to the list of other places they need to go for the day, he’s got a court session after lunch, which Stiles will probably have to sit around the office doing paperwork during, unless he wants to tag along, but other than that it’s going to be a slow, _slow_ day.

The boy’s been silent for the past three hours, keeping to himself even though he’s supposed to be helping Derek with the list, but he doesn’t bother his partner until he has to.

“You wanna head out in about five minutes?”

Stiles lifts his head up from his paper work slowly and looks at Derek for a moment, then glances at the time on his computer before nodding, otherwise silent.

He’s got a bur up his ass, he can acknowledge that much, but he doesn’t even really know **why** he’s so bent out of shape. It doesn’t matter, though, because if anything, the other man is probably reveling in said silence, especially considering how often he tells Stiles to shut up.

Derek frowns at the kid’s response, Stiles is acting more childish than usual by playing 'the silent game', but he doesn’t bother to point it out, it’s no skin off his back. He gathers his things after a moment - his holster, his coat, his files - and walks around, passed Stiles’s desk as he moves to the elevator.

Stiles turns his monitor off and stands up after Derek passes him, pulling his own holster on as he walks slowly to the elevator to join his partner. Keeping his distance and staying silent is easy enough to pull off in the office, but considering they’re going to be in the older man’s stupid car together, he doesn’t know if he’ll actually be able to stay quiet.

Derek glances at his partner and moves out of the way when the agent in the elevator walks passed them.

“Hell, rookie,” He says as he walks by and Derek doesn’t even bother to correct him.

He moves into the elevator, standing as far from the other man in it as he possibly can without being obvious, and he turns to punch the ground floor button as he stares ahead.

The elevator ride is excruciatingly slow. By now, Stiles would normally be talking Derek’s ear off, gaining an eye roll and a huff of irritation from his partner, but all he gets in turn for his silence is a quick glance and stilted distance.

Derek stands still until the doors open and he walks out, looking up at the overcast sky and shaking his head to himself as he reaches into his pocket for his keys, unlocking the car and settling in the driver’s side seat as he turns on his windshield wipers to clear his screen as he sets his things in the back floorboard.

Stiles sighs to himself before he climbs in as well and mechanically moves to pull his seatbelt on, not bothering to so much as look at the other man as he gets situated and waits for his partner to pull out.

Derek frowns as he glances at his watch, realizing it’s already ten and the drive to Denise Lynn’s house is almost fifteen minutes, it’s probably best they hit her up first instead of putting it off. He pulls out onto the main road and starts off, but frowns when he sees the start of traffic, so he turns and pulls onto the interstate. He stays silent, though, if anyone’s going to break the silence between them again it’s going to be the one that started it.

Stiles subtly glances over at Derek when the older man pulls onto the interstate and quirks a brow, because even though traffic’s a bitch, if they take the interstate, it’ll probably take them just as long to get to Denise’s house. It’s a longer, more roundabout way, just without the traffic.

Derek stays to the right, pulling off on the next exit and thankfully driving keeps his mind busy enough not to feel like he has to say anything to his partner. If he’d been stuck in traffic he probably would’ve felt obligated, and he doesn’t have enough patience to sit bumper to bumper with other cars. He wets his lips as big drops of rain start splattering over his windshield and he sighs in annoyance.

The rain inadvertently reminds Stiles of the day before when Derek was high, when he thought it was raining and he can’t help but snicker a little to himself. He doesn’t look at his partner, though, just crosses his arms and keeps his gaze set out of the passenger side window.

Derek parks at the third house on the left, just as Christy had explained the day before and he turns to reach back, putting on his holster in the car and managing to get his jacket on halfway before climbing out.

He checks his pocket for his badge before closing the door and starting off towards the house, feeling uneasy at the toys and stuff spread across the yard. After twelve years, though, he’s seen just about every kind of drug dealer possible, but he hates it when kids are involved.

Stiles follows his partner mindlessly and stalks up the walkway with his hand touching his holster. He doesn’t think he’ll need his gun, but given his short amount of time with the bureau, he’s kind of learned to be prepared for anything. Just because she has children doesn’t mean she’s not completely psychotic.

Derek stops at the door and knocks once Stiles is at his side, barely glancing to see that the lights on the inside of the house are on. He doesn’t need to see to know that they’re all inside, he can hear a little girl crying and arguing with her brother in the back room of the house.

Denise shouts on the other side of the door exclaiming that she’s coming, but when she opens the door and gets a good look at the two men, she swallows nervously and locks her screen door, “Go away.”

“Denise Lynn,” Derek starts, raising his brows, “You’re not in any trouble,” He says before she can shut her door on them, “I’m Agent Hale of the FBI, this is my partner, Agent Stilinski. We just have a couple questions,” He glances passed her to her daughter and then lowers his voice, “We’re not here to arrest you.”

“Maybe not,” Denise says and shakes her head, expression terror stricken, “But if I talk to you, I’m as good as dead, anyway. I got nothing to say to you feds.”

“Ma’am, please,” Stiles chimes in and keeps his tone polite, “This’ll be off the record, no one has to know. May we come in?” He asks.

Denise stares at them for a moment and considers it, brows drawn pensively as she unlocks the screen door and opens it for them, “Come on in, hurry up before anyone sees you.”

Derek moves first, walking inside the house and being mindful not to trek in any mud, glancing around the house before looking at the girl in the front room watching Blue’s Clues on the tv.

Stiles steps in as well and waits until Denise closes the front door to clear his throat, keeping his voice low so that the children won’t be able to hear, “We’ve been informed that you’ve been dealing a new drug called Blue Moon,” He starts and puts his palms up when he notices her drawing back defensively, “And we’re not here to arrest you, like my partner said. You’re not in trouble, not if you cooperate with us.”

“What do you want?” Denise asks warily and looks between the two of them, crossing her arms and picking nervously at the wrists of her shirt.

“We just want to know the name of the distributor,” Derek says, looking at her then, “Aside from that, we suggest you **stop** selling this drug, we’ve had cases in the past few weeks. I don’t think you want to get a bad name for selling it,” It’s ironic suggesting such a thing, but the less people affected by this drug, the better.

“I can’t give you their name,” Denise says with wide eyes, “I-I can’t, and I can’t stop selling it, either. You don’t understand,” She shakes her head.

“I understand that your list of clients is getting short,” Derek responds quickly, lowering his voice even more, “People are **dying** because of it.”

“And I’m real sorry about that,” Denise shrugs, “But when I say I can’t stop, I mean I **can’t**.”

“Would you mind elaborating a little?” Stiles asks, “What do you mean you 'can’t'?”

“As in I can’t,” Denise says a little harshly, “I don’t wanna kill nobody by dealing, but I don’t have a choice. Either I deal or-” She stops and her eyes water, then she shakes her head dismissively.

Derek frowns, he understands that feeling well, he starts to respond when the girl watching the tv turns to look at them, walking over to them and watching them curiously.

He sighs and tries to be as vague as possible to Denise, “Are you being forced? Or is it… Bills?”

Denise opens her mouth to tell them, but then she closes it again and shakes her head resolutely, because she knows that if she tells them, her life won’t be the only one she’s putting at risk.

“You can tell us,” Stiles insists gently, watching the woman.

Derek closes and buttons his coat when the girl tries to push it aside and he moves away a little, “Denise,” He says as he watches her firmly, “If you tell us, we can do something about it. Otherwise, you’re helpless to these people for the rest of your life. And **girls** , women that buy from you aren’t gonna be buying anymore.”

He doesn’t want to say anything graphic around the woman’s daughter, so he gives her a significant look with that, “You know them, they’re not just _people_ , some of them are your friends, and they’re in danger as well. It won’t stop unless you tell us.”

“It’s not gonna stop even if I do tell you,” Denise raises her voice and looks intently at the taller of the two.

“Why can’t you get that through your thick head?” She asks, “It’s not that I don’t feel guilty over what this is doing to people, but if I have to choose between friends or family, I’m gonna choose family. If I tell you you’re not gonna be able to do something in time and my foolishness will have done **nothing** but get my children killed. It’s not as black and white as you make it seem, agent.”

Derek narrows his eyes at her, “You think I’m not aware of how it is?” He asks rhetorically, “We’re dealing with this case under the radar completely **because** of that reason.”

He leans in close, “I can’t grant you immunity, I can’t offer you a safe house or anything because people higher up than us would also have **our** heads. So trust me when I say that I’m aware.”

He looks at Stiles and while they need a name, he can’t really offer the woman anything to keep her and her family safe. He can understand that basic need to protect what’s yours, even if he hasn’t had it in over twenty years.

“He’s a bad man,” Denise says quietly, voice shaking, “And he’ll know, he’ll know if I tell you. He knows everything, and he’ll be angry. He’ll take it out on…” She swallows tightly and looks down at her daughter, “People that matter to me. This isn’t something I can just get out of.”

“So it’s a man?” Stiles asks, trying to be somewhat persistent, because he can see her slowly caving in, “A name is all we need, Denise. You give us a name and we can help you and other people like you who are being manipulated by him.”

Denise’s eyes widen because she’s already said too much and she reaches up to cover her mouth, shaking her head intently as her eyes continue to water.

Derek frowns, “Drop it, Stilinski,” He says finally, “She’s trying to protect her kids,” He looks away from the woman and motions to the door, “The more you press, the more you’re gonna end up getting innocents drawn into the line of fire."

"Denise,” He turns to the woman and stares at her firmly, “If you feel like you’ve already said too much, and anything happens, you can contact me and my partner and we’ll be here. We can’t provide much, but we can protect you. I won’t bother giving you my card, just remember eight, eight, nine, two, can you remember that?”

Denise nods fervently and removes her hand from her mouth, clutching her chest as she looks up at the taller one, “Thank you,” She says gratefully, wishing she could say more.

Derek nods back and opens the door for Stiles, “Be careful,” He tells her, glancing back at her daughter, who’s already lost interest and is back at the tv again.

“And thank you for your time,” Stiles adds, smiling weakly before stepping out of the house. Inwardly, he’s a little frustrated that they couldn’t get a name, but at the same time he can understand the need to protect your young - even though he, himself, doesn’t have any.

Derek leaves the house, walking just behind Stiles, to his right as he glances around the street, listening carefully as he moves back to the car in silence as he focuses his attention to the people within hearing distance. Knowing his luck, lately, he’s just put four children’s lives at risk and one or all of them will be dead before he has a chance to do anything about it.

Stiles opens the passenger's side door and slides in glumly, brows narrowed thoughtfully as he nibbles on his bottom lip. Denise was the only lead they had tied to Blue Moon and if she won’t talk, then the case probably will go stale and he’ll look like a huge failure.

Derek reaches up to scratch his hand through his beard when he remembers that he shaved that morning, so he ends up scratching at bare skin. Sighing, he reaches out to jam the keys in the ignition and start the car - the sooner they’re out of this neighborhood, the better it’ll be for Denise and her children.

After a few moments, Stiles shifts in his seat for comfort and looks over at his partner, after enduring the seriousness of talking to Denise, he kind of feels like he needs to lighten the mood. And it’s getting kind of difficult to even remember **why** he was so angry with Derek in the first place.

“You look like a giant infant,” He says flatly, “Why the fuck did you shave?”

“It was getting messy,” Derek responds shortly. He already regrets it though, he should’ve just trimmed it down, he feels naked without the facial hair. But if he gives it a few hours it won’t be so bad.

“You could’ve trimmed it,” Stiles points out and he’s already beginning to feel a little bit better, “You look stupid.”

Derek lets out a huff of breath and looks at Stiles in annoyance, “Shut up.”

“I don’t take orders from overgrown babies,” Stiles says lightheartedly, “I mean, how do you plan on getting laid again looking like that? It’s weird, you look weird.”

“Getting laid isn’t a priority,” Derek says dismissively, he narrows his brows as he stops at the red light and continues to watch Stiles in silence for a moment, “We’re gonna be lucky if we don’t get a call in the morning about one of her kids getting murdered, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighs at the change in topic, “I know,” He says and nods, looking at Derek seriously, “Did you see how terrified she was?”

“I did, her heart was racing practically the moment she realized she’d said too much,” Derek muses aloud and puts his foot back down gently on the gas, “What kind of man bullies a single mother?”

Stiles is about to ask Derek how he knows her heart was racing but he shrugs it off and shakes his head, “The kind that needs a fucking bullet put between his eyes.”

Derek nods in agreement, “Probably the same kind that gives a poisonous drug to people, and kills an FBI agent’s partner in cold blood. I wonder if it was one of the three men from that night.”

“It wouldn’t really surprise me any,” Stiles says, “If someone can kill an innocent person, I don’t see why they’d have any problem manipulating and threatening a mother of four.”

“She knew we couldn’t do a thing the moment she saw us,” Derek voices then, “And now she knows that even the FBI is unaware of what’s going on. It’s happening right under our noses, all the agents dealing with Blue Moon cases… Their lives are at risk.”

“Whoever it is behind all of this, it has to be someone with power,” Stiles muses, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth, “And I don’t mean just brute, I mean… Connections, he must have leverage.”

“Not just leverage, either,” Derek says and he’s a little discomforted that he’s already profiling this guy, “Charisma, to get so involved with so many people. To be able to influence **others** of power. Something tells me that even most of the higher ups **above** us have their balls in vices, maybe even Deaton.”

“Probably,” Stiles nods and staunches down the dread he feels over the situation, then looks at Derek, “I hope she calls you, otherwise we’ve got nothing.”

“Christy might know another dealer, if she doesn’t call back,” Derek says dismissively, “I’m not worried about that, there’s plenty of cases involving it. We can’t pick them up but… Maybe McCall can, we’d have to advise discretion, we can’t risk saying much, but he’s your friend. He’s a good agent, and about the only other one in the building I’d trust to give such information to.”

Stiles nods slowly, “I can talk to him,” He says, “Or **we** could talk to him, preferably not at work. I think you should reconsider coming out with us for a drink. We’d be less likely to be overheard.”

Derek sighs in annoyance, “We can’t talk at work, regardless,” He looks at Stiles, “Even you and I can’t talk about things outside of this car, bringing in a third person will be a risk. But I don’t want him to end up like Boyd when we can avoid it altogether.”

“We don’t have to tell him everything, like you said, we can keep it simple,” Stiles shrugs the older man’s attitude off, “We could just ask how his cases are going, maybe get him a little drunk and ask for a lead. He’ll never remember,” He insists, though he’s not too fond of manipulating his best friend like that.

“No, it’s best this is as clean as possible,” Derek shakes his head, “McCall needs to know about the safety risks, regardless of getting a lead. I’ll ask Christy about that, but it’d be nice having McCall involved since he can actually work on **real** cases, instead of going under the radar. If we’d been able to do our job right, Denise and her kids would be moving to somewhere safe tonight.”

“Yeah, I kinda wish we coulda took them somewhere safe,” Stiles mutters under his breath, “So, if we’re getting Scotty involved, does that mean you’re agreeing to come out with us?”

“I guess,” Derek says, pressing his lips together in frustration.

“It’ll be nice to blow off a little steam,” Stiles insists, “And you could be a little more excited to be hanging out with your partner on your down time.”

Derek rolls his eyes in annoyance, “Shut up, Stilinski.”

“One of these days you’re gonna roll your eyes at me and they’re gonna get stuck,” Stiles says, looking at his partner pointedly, “And then I’m gonna laugh.”

“And then I’m gonna slam your head into the dashboard,” Derek concludes, raising his brows at Stiles.

“I’m not buying it,” Stiles chuckles and shakes his head, “I am one hundred percent convinced you’re nothing but a big teddy bear. Erica was right, your bark is worse than your bite.”

“You’ve seen me on the field twice now and you’re under the impression I won’t actually hurt you?” Derek asks rhetorically.

“I’m not a perp,” Stiles says confidently, “I’m your partner. So no, I don’t think you’d actually hurt me.”

Derek turns away, “I will if you’re acting like a fucking idiot.”

“I act like a fucking idiot all of the time,” Stiles points out.

“You wouldn’t be the first agent I’ve hurt,” Derek says back, “You’re constantly under the impression that you can’t be harmed, ask McCall. When I turned on you after I found out you were looking into me, I was seconds from beating the shit out of you.”

“I was being a shithead, so why didn’t you?” Stiles asks curiously, “You’ve had nothing but opportunities to pummel me into dust… And you haven’t.”

“You’re small,” Derek says and takes a right, “You’re a child, I might as well steal candy from a baby if I’m gonna hit you for doing something reckless.”

“I’m not a child,” Stiles argues and he’s tired of hearing the older man say that, “I pay taxes, I drink beer when I want to and I have a job. Are you ever gonna stop calling me a child?”

Derek shakes his head, “No. If you think **any** of that changes you into a man, you’re wrong.”

He pulls into the only parking spot by their next lead’s car and turns to Stiles, “Your actions change that, and until you start **acting** like a man, you’re a boy, Stilinski. The fact that you feel you have to list off these ‘grown up attributes’ to me to try and prove otherwise only helps solidify my argument."

"Prove me wrong,” He says and then climbs out of the car.

Stiles frowns at his partner and unbuckles his seatbelt, “I will,” He utters to himself and climbs out as well.

Derek smirks to himself as he moves to the front door, reaching into his pocket and taking out his wallet as he knocks.

  
[MageStiles](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/) ϟ [Sparklinski](http://sparklinski.tumblr.com/)  



	9. A Broken Record

Stiles smiles at the bartender after the other man sits the bottles down in front of him and he slides the necks of them between his fingers before moving back to Scott, settling the drinks down and sliding back into his side of the booth, “He’ll be here. I threatened to key his car if he didn’t show up,” He says, popping the top off of his beer.

“Dude, I can’t believe you got him to agree to this in the first place,” Scott says and smiles as he takes his beer, popping the top off on the edge of the table, “Kinda awesome, I don’t think he gets out much.”

“Yeah, no, he doesn’t,” Stiles shakes his head and grimaces as he takes a long pull of the bitter liquid, “He’d probably be a hermit or something if it weren’t for his job. This’ll be good for him.”

“No it won’t,” Derek says as he slides in beside Stiles and takes one of the beers, twisting the cap off and setting it down on the surface of the table as he glances around them warily.

Stiles eyes widen when his partner just magically fucking appears and he chokes on the swig of alcohol he’s taken, looking the older man over and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Jesus fucking Christ, you don’t just sneak up on someone like that - and it should be against the law to [wear clothes that tight](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/post/80465817737/-dashing-derek-week-favorite) in public,” He says all in one breath, still staring at Derek, “It looks painted on, are you trying to give the ladies a heart attack?”

Derek narrows his eyes at Stiles and turns away, nodding his beer to Scott, “McCall.”

“Ignoring me,” Stiles mutters into his drink as Scott chuckles, “That’s nice.”

“It’s cool you could come out,” Scott says, nodding back at Derek.

“I hate this place,” Derek responds, frowning as he tries not to breathe through his nose, “You can practically taste everyone’s beers with it clustered together like this.”

Stiles leans closer to Derek and lowers his voice so that Scott won’t hear, “You still high?”

“I’m not high,” Derek says loudly, “I’m uncomfortable,” He moves his head away from Stiles in annoyance, “I don’t go to these kinds of establishments for a reason.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this bar,” Stiles argues, “And we don’t have to stay for long, so try to suck it up.”

“Why exactly **are** we here, anyway?” Scott asks, looking between his best friend and agent Hale, “You said you wanted to talk.”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles nods and looks at Derek, unsure of how to even bring everything up, “But you gotta promise it’ll just stay between me, you and Hale.”

“I promise,” Scott says at once and leans forward a little on the table, elbows splayed out as he watches them curiously.

Derek leans in as well, resting his arms on the surface as he ducks his head a little, “That means you can’t tell your wife, either. You think you can keep that kind of secret from her?”

“I can keep a secret,” Scott tells him and nods insistently.

Derek looks at Stiles for a moment before lowering his voice a little, “ _The cases about that new drug aren’t safe, the drug’s called Blue Moon, and someone… **Big** is pushing it out_.”

“And by someone big, we mean… We think it’s a higher up in the bureau,” Stiles adds on seriously, sitting his bottle off to the side.

“In the bureau?” Scott asks in confusion, “Why would you think that?”

“I can’t say much,” Derek says, giving him a significant look, “But it involves Boyd’s murder. I didn’t want you going into anything blindly, like we did.”

Scott gapes at Derek and nods appreciatively after a moment, “Yeah, thanks for the heads up. That’s… _Are you sure_?” He asks suddenly.

“I’ve seen it for myself, McCall,” Derek says and glances around, “Don’t talk about it at work, that’s why we’re here. I don’t know if any agents are involved, but some of the people above Deaton definitely are.”

“And you guys are just telling me this so I can watch my back?” Scott asks unsurely.

Derek looks at Stiles for a moment before he considers something, “Well, now that I think about it, there might be something you can help us with. You’re dealing with one right now, aren’t you?”

“Um, yeah,” Scott nods and furrows his brows, clutching his beer bottle tightly.

“We have a lead that knows the name of the person pushing the drug out, but she won’t speak because he’s threatening her four children’s lives,” Derek lowers his voice, “If you can see to her, get them safe, we’ll have a name.”

Stiles was beginning to think that Derek was going to ask for a name of another dealer and he lets out a relieved breath when he doesn’t, turning to look at his friend, “They seriously need protection, man.”

“Who is it?” Scott asks, “And will she make an official statement? Because otherwise there’s not much I can do to keep her safe.”

“She’ll do anything for her family,” Derek says confidently, “As long as they’re safe, chances are you can get an official statement, but… That’s kind of the problem. If she talks and they find out what you’re doing,” He lifts his brows at Scott, “They’ll kill you.”

“We might be able to keep it hush hush,” Scott says, mulling it over, “At least long enough to get them into witness protection. I guess it’s kind of a risk I need to take, sounds too big to look over.”

“Just be careful,” Stiles says, “And when she gives you the name, pass it along to us, alright?”

Scott nods and offers his buddy a chipper smile, “You got it, man.”

Derek smiles slightly and sits back, glancing around again, “The sooner you get to her, the better,” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and tugging out one of the dollar bills in it and taking the spare pen he keeps on hand, writing down her address and handing it to Scott, “Tomorrow morning, if you can.”

“Lydia’s got a conference to sit in on, I can handle it,” Scott takes the dollar bill, reading the address before pocketing it, “What’s her name?”

“Denise Lynn,” Derek all but mouths, Scott’s familiar enough with Sable to know that that’s been one of the suspected aliases.

“Oh, wow, okay,” Scott’s eyes widen and he takes a drink of his beer, “Yeah, I’ll handle it. No worries.”

“You’re the best,” Stiles says and leans back to slouch in the booth, chugging on his beer before looking at his partner, “And I know what you’re thinking, you’re thinking of ways you can get out of here. There’s a five beer minimum, big guy, so don’t even think about skipping out.”

“Shut up, Stilinski,” Derek responds and doesn’t bother telling the boy that the reason he’s glancing around so much has **nothing** to do with wanting to leave.

“I’m starting to think that’s your catch phrase or something with as much as you say it,” Stiles looks at Scott and shakes his head, “He doesn’t really hate me as much as he says he does.”

“If you say so,” Scott snorts and looks at Derek, “It’s okay, he’s not an easy person to like.”

“I noticed,” Derek mutters as he sips his beer, glancing at Stiles beside him and narrowing his brows at the unusual, annoying sense of fondness he feels for the boy. He chugs the rest of his beer and sets it down, “Where’s the other four, so I can leave?”

Stiles feigns a small gasp and shakes his head at the older man, “You wound me,” He says dramatically, “Hanging out with me and Scotty isn’t so bad, stop pretending like it is.”

“If you’re not at **least** wounded by the end of this, I’ll be surprised,” Derek responds and stands up to go to the bar and get another beer.

“Get me another one too!” Stiles calls out and shakes his head as he watches the older man move towards the bar, “Seriously, who wears pants that tight?” He asks Scott and finishes off his first beer.

“Evidently Hale does when he’s not on the clock,” Scott responds, looking at his friend oddly.

Stiles decidedly ignores the look, because in all honesty, he can’t really decipher it, “Well, he’s stupid,” He says without conviction.

Derek comes back with three more beers, handing one to Stiles and setting the other in front of Scott before opening his own as he sits back down.

“You already have a five o’clock shadow,” Stiles points out to Derek and takes his second beer, twisting the cap off as he observes his partner’s face, “That makes literally no sense to me.” He looks at Scott, “He shaved this morning, it’s not fair. Some of us can’t grow facial hair like that.”

Scott chuckles and nurses on his first beer still, looking at agent Hale, “He’s just bitter because, when he tries growing his out, he looks like a diseased cat.”

Derek looks between the two of them silently, sipping his beer and nodding as he sets it down, “It’s genetics.”

“It’s unfair, is what it is,” Stiles mutters to himself and hammers down the second beer, feeling the way the alcohol makes his cheeks heat, “We’re gonna have to swap seats. I need to be on the outside.”

“Why?” Derek asks, narrowing his brows as he watches Stiles.

“So I can go get me another beer when I want one,” Stiles says simply, “Without having to ask you to move or get me another. And also because I have a small bladder.”

Derek moves from the booth, standing up and pointedly waiting for Stiles.

Stiles slides out of the booth and pats Derek on the chest before heading to the bathroom first, completely unable to hold his alcohol at all. He washes his hands afterwards and heads back out into the throng of the crowd, heading for the bar to order him another beer and a round of shots.

Laying a twenty down against the bar, he takes the drinks and goes back to their booth, taking Derek’s previous seat, “Shots?”

“No way,” Scott shakes his head, “Lydia would kill me if I came home hammered on a work night.”

Stiles looks at Derek then and raises his brows, “That means you’re obligated to help me dispose of these.”

Derek frowns and turns in his seat as he looks at the shots, “You **also** have work in the morning, Stilinski,” He says firmly. None of it matters to him though, he could drink until he drowned, he still wouldn’t be drunk.

“Your point being?” Stiles asks and shakes his head, “I don’t get hangovers, Hale. I’ve never gotten a hangover in my life. I’ll function just fine.”

Derek takes the first shot tentatively and downs it, setting it on the table and raising his brow at Stiles.

“It’s not a contest, you competitive jerk,” Stiles says and picks one of the shots up, tossing it back and grimacing at the way it burns before slamming the glass back down on the table.

Derek frowns at the sharp sound up close and reaches for the second, “I don’t care what it is, I’ve never had shots before.”

“You’ve never had alcohol of any kind, if I’m remembering right,” Stiles says and tosses back another shot, keeping up with his partner, “And you hadn’t had drugs either up until a couple days ago. I’m starting to feel like my presence is corrupting you.”

Scott clears his throat to let **his** presence be known, even though it is kind of humorous watching the both of them, “You did drugs?” He asks incredulously, gaping at Derek.

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Derek looks at Stiles then, “If you don’t shut your fucking mouth, I’m gonna smash your head on this table and knock you out for the night.”

“And bruise my pretty face?” Stiles asks and smiles easily, beginning to feel somewhat buzzed, “Okay, but you get to explain that to Heather, not me.”

Derek rolls his eyes and looks at Scott, “I had a bag of Blue Moon thrown at my face,” He elaborates, just in case Scott’s feeling the need to tell anyone **else** about it, “This lead we found walking around on a stakeout.”

Scott nods, “Part of the job I reckon, probably happens more often than other agents wanna admit.”

“Do you really have to bring her up?” Stiles asks Derek then, looking at the older man as his body thrums from the alcohol, “‘I had a bag of Blue Moon thrown at my face’ was explanation enough.”

Derek takes a swig of his beer, “Shut up already about it,” He says as he glances at Scott.

Scott narrows his eyes at the both of them and nods very slowly just once, “Right,” He drawls, finally finishing off his first beer before slapping the table, “Well, it’s been fun,” He says, getting out of the booth, “But I’m gonna go home, got important stuff to do tomorrow.”

“No, come on, Scotty, don’t go,” Stiles complains and looks at Derek, then back at his friend, “Don’t leave me with him.”

“Sorry, bro,” Scott shrugs and slinks away, “Gotta go.”

Derek watches Scott leave in confusion and turns back to his partner, “Did you drive here?”

“Nope,” Stiles shakes his head, then drops it back against the booth, “I feel a little betrayed, he was supposed to let me crash on his couch tonight.”

“You chased him off because you were acting like a child,” Derek responds and looks away, taking the next shot quickly, “I’ll drive you to your house.”

“He’s use to my behavior, I didn’t scare him off,” Stiles argues and furrows his brows, gazing up at the yellow tinted ceiling, “And you can’t take me home, Heather doesn’t like me coming home inebriated.”

Derek raises his brows in mock surprise, “I wonder why.”

“Oh shut up,” Stiles says and tries to glare at Derek, but it comes off looking more like a crooked squint, “I’m not an alcoholic,” He defends himself and nudges his partner in the ribs, “Lemme crash on your couch tonight.”

“No,” Derek says at once, taking Scott’s second beer and opening it for himself.

“Where am I supposed to go?” Stiles asks and slurps on his beer, “I can’t go home. It’s just one night, I don’t snore that bad.”

Derek sighs, “You already owe me one, you really wanna owe me **two**?”

“Fine,” Stiles sighs out and rubs a hand over his face, “Can you at least drop me off at the park? Not the shady one, but the one on the east side of town?”

“I’m not dropping you at a park,” Derek responds as he looks at Stiles with slightly widened eyes, “You’re an FBI agent, do you have any idea how fucking stupid that would be?”

“You make it sound like it’d be the first time I slept on a bench,” Stiles says and shakes his head, “I’m an FBI agent, yeah, but I’m still human. If you won’t let me crash on your couch, I’m not seeing another option, big guy.”

“Finish what you have and then we’re going,” Derek says as he chugs his beer, there’s no way in Hell he’s dealing with his partner with any more unnecessary alcohol in his system on the drive back.

Stiles rolls his eyes and chugs the rest of his beer before setting it aside, “Such a buzzkill.”

“Shut up,” Derek responds and all but shoves Stiles out of the booth as he stands up and walks the boy out of the bar.

Stiles stumbles a little and squints as he looks around once they get outside, “Where’d you park?”

“It’s night, you’re drunk, and you’re trying to look for a black car,” Derek says back, not missing the irony in the slightest as he grabs the back of Stiles’s collar and turns him to his right, moving to the car and opening the passenger’s door for him, “Get in.”

“Okay,” Stiles says a little too happily and wants to remark on how pushy Derek is, but opts for reclining the seat back instead, humming under his breath at first until he starts singing to himself, “ _Seems like everywhere you turn, catastrophe it reigns… But who really profits from the dying_.”

Derek frowns as he moves to the driver’s side and climbs in, glancing at Stiles and rolling his eyes before stuffing the keys in the ignition, “Don’t make me put you down.”

“It’s a good song, shut up,” Stiles says defensively and throws his arm up over his face as he continues belting out the song shamelessly, “ _I could hold you in my arms… I could hold you **forever**_.”

Derek has half a mind to cover Stiles’s mouth or hit him across the head, but he pulls out of his spot in the bar’s parking lot and drives out onto the main road, “Shut up, Stilinski.”

“No, sing it with me, Hale,” Stiles insists, even though there’s no way in Hell he could see Derek knowing **any** Ray LaMontagne, “ _Don’t let your eyes refuse to see, don’t let your ears refuse to hear… Or you ain’t never gonna shake this sense of sadness_.”

“I’m not kidding,” Derek says and drives silently otherwise, not /actually/ bothering to shut Stiles up.

“You’re bluffing,” Stiles says and changes songs without warning, voice going all high pitched and scratchy, “ _I’m gonna lure you into the dark, my cold desire… To hear the boom, boom, boom of your heart_.”

Derek glares ahead and tightens his hold on the steering wheel, growing more and more impatient as Stiles sings and he’s seconds from stopping the car and kicking the kid out of the passenger’s side seat.

“ _The danger is, I’m dangerous_ ,” Stiles squeaks out, “ _And I might just tear you_ -hey do you think I could try out for American Idol?” He asks abruptly, “Scotty says I’m good.”

“Don’t subject others to it,” Derek says as he winces, concerned with the possibility of his ears bleeding.

“You’re not very nice,” Stiles slurs and rolls to his side on the reclined seat, kicking his legs around and trying to rest his feet up on the dashboard as he reaches across and pinches the fabric of Derek’s shirt between his fingers, tugging at it, “ **So** tight.”

Derek lifts a brow as he glances down at Stiles’s hand, not bothering to react as he feels his partner pull at a couple chest hairs, and he doesn’t say anything in response as he looks back up to the road.

“Are we there yet?” Stiles asks impatiently and closes his eyes, fighting the waves of vertigo as he full out clutches at his partner’s shirt for something to hold onto, because it feels like everything’s falling out from under him, “It feels like everything’s falling out from under me.”

Derek frowns at the comment and how it feels somewhat familiar, but he’s not sure why. He shoves Stiles away from him and stops at a red light, “Straighten up in your fucking seat like a normal person.”

“No, no,” Stiles says softly and rolls to his stomach, wrapping his arms around the seat as he shakes his head and clenches his eyes shut tightly, “I don’t have nothing to hold on to, m’gonna float away.”

“Stop being dramatic,” Derek says as he rolls his eyes and starts off again, reaching out to turn Stiles around and frowning as he glances back at the car behind them, “Sit in your seat properly, Stilinski.”

“No,” Stiles says stubbornly and bats Derek’s hand away, clinging to the car door and the console, “I don’t wanna float away. Make it stop.”

Derek glares at Stiles for a moment before settling on one thought: the moment he gets to the house he’s killing this fucking moron. He presses his lips together as he drives and stares firmly ahead, pointedly ignoring his partner.

“Make it stop, make it stop,” Stiles says repeatedly and his chest heaves, closing his eyes again to calm himself down, “Why do you hate me so much?”

“Shut up, Stilinski,” Derek responds as he continues staring ahead.

“I don’t-I don’t understand,” Stiles shakes his head and looks up at Derek, still clutching at the car, “I’m trying to be a good partner, dunno why you hate me so much.”

Derek sighs and takes a right as he glances back at the car behind them again, but he doesn’t say anything to Stiles, still.

“I don’t hate you,” Stiles admits quietly and draws his legs up into the seat, letting go of the door and console to wrap his arms around them.

“That’s surprising, considering what you put me through half the time,” Derek mutters back lowly.

Stiles shakes his head at that, unable to say anything other than: “I don’t hate you.”

“What makes you think I hate you?” Derek asks then, looking at Stiles as he drives as calmly as possible, trying not to feel so paranoid. He’s done this a few times - suspecting someone following him - apparently old habits die hard.

“You-You-You said-” Stiles sighs and rolls back onto his side, laying in the fetal position, “You said you hated me, a-and you’re-you’re so mean all the time.”

“I don’t hate you,” Derek clarifies, “If I hated you, I wouldn’t have given you mine and Boyd’s last case.”

“You do,” Stiles utters lazily, really only catching bits and pieces of what Derek’s saying, “You do hate me, you didn’t want me as a partner. Y-You thought-you thought they put me with you as a joke, m’just a burden. A stupid kid.”

“Past tense,” Derek says and he doesn’t know why he’s even bothering to explain anything to Stiles while he’s drunk like this, “I **did** think that, initially. Opinions change. I think the reason Deaton paired me with you, now, is because he knows I can handle taking care of a rookie agent. I can keep you safe,” He says as he parks his car finally and turns it off.

Stiles sits up slowly when he feels the car come to a stop and he looks at Derek, eyes glassy as he reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, “I can’t keep you safe,” He tells him quietly, “I’m smart, but I’m not-I’m not quick and I’m not strong.”

Derek narrows his brows at the wording, watching Stiles as he shrugs, “You’ll get there,” He says and glances back as the car that’s been following them parks behind them. He starts to turn to open his door and see who it is when Stiles’s door is opened from the outside and the person yanks him out of the passenger’s side seat.

“What-” Stiles grunts when he hits the ground and everything’s spinning, but he pushes against the concrete in an attempt to get up, “Hale?”

“Stilinski,” Derek moves across the seats, all but leaping out of the passenger’s side as the person that pulled Stiles out of the car yanks him up by his shirt and stabs him in the back.

Stiles stumbles backwards and his eyes widen when he feels the sharp, searing pain in his back, “Fuck,” He breathes out, trying to get away from the guy, but it’s like he can’t force his legs to move so he collapses down onto his knees. He puts his palms against the pavement as the pain radiates throughout his torso and he winces, “Hale!”

Derek lifts his hand up, gun pointed and shoots the man standing there point blank before he moves to Stiles as he pulls out his cell phone, “I’ve got you,” He says, voice shaking as he lays Stiles down on his stomach, “Don’t move, okay?”

“ _Hurts_ ,” Stiles grunts and closes his eyes as he lays his arms out above his head, lower part of his body hurting so bad he can’t really think straight.

Derek tries to breathe calmly, his left hand touching the back of Stiles’s neck, withdrawing his pain as much as he can as the person on the other side finally picks up, “This is agent Hale of the FBI, my partner’s been stabbed, I need an ambulance on twenty-third, the fourth house on the right,” He mindlessly runs his fingers over the back of the boy’s neck as he looks around, “No,” He says and glances down, “Stilinski, start… Uh.. Singing that stupid song.”

“What… What song?” Stiles asks dumbly and he feels so sleepy, the pain isn’t as intense, but it still hurts, “I can’t, wanna sleep.”

“If you fall asleep I’m gonna kick your ass,” Derek says, “Sing that stupid song you were singing in the car-yes, that’s-my badge number is JTT047108892.”

Stiles dazes in and out, wondering idly who his partner’s even talking to as the edges of his vision blur a little, “I dunno what I was singing,” He says and tries to move a little, attempting to roll to his back because he’s uncomfortable.

Derek hangs up finally and pushes Stiles down, “Don’t move, I told you not to move,” He says as he tries to keep the water from his eyes, “You’re fucking impossible under pressure,” He mutters and reaches down to tear open the back of Stiles’s shirt to look at the wound. He grabs the hem of his own to lift it and take it off.

“It hurts,” Stiles slurs again and he really doesn’t like that he can’t really see anything other than the road, it’s not comforting in the slightest. The throbbing pain makes him cry out for a moment and he tries to get up again, “I can’t-I don’t wanna fucking die in the middle of the road.”

“You’re not gonna die,” Derek says back, “But if you keep fucking moving I’m gonna kill you myself,” He wraps his shirt around the knife and applies pressure firmly as he reaches back down to touch Stiles’s neck, “There’s a knife in your back and if you keep moving you’re gonna bleed out.”

“Take it out!” Stiles wails and balls his hands into fists, blinking slowly as the pull of sleep steadily becomes overwhelming, “So fucking tired.”

Derek pulls his hand back and smacks Stiles’s cheek, more out of annoyance than anything, “Don’t you even fucking think of falling asleep on me.”

He glances around again, looking at the body of the man he shot and he wants to go over and look to see who it was, but he refuses to leave his partner, no matter what, “Sing me that stupid song already.”

Stiles really can’t even remember what he’d been singing and he can’t quite grasp why it’s so important to Derek for him to sing, but he tries to think of something else as he struggles to ignore the pain, “ _I just wanna be better than your_ -” He gasps at the sudden, overwhelming wave of agony, “ _Your head’s only medicine_ ,” He grunts out, “Fuck, Hale, s’too much.”

“Keep singing,” Derek says as he reaches down to the knife in the boy’s back, touching the wet skin and drawing the pain out quickly, gasping and closing his eyes as he tries not to react to it.

Stiles stares blankly at the road and feels the pain ease momentarily, but he’s starting to worry that maybe it’s actually worse than Derek’s letting on, “ _A downward spiral just a pirouette, g-g-getting worse til there’s n-n-nothing left_ -how bad is it?” He asks with a tight breath.

“It’s bad,” Derek says honestly, “You should see the other guy.”

“Who was it?” Stiles asks and closes his eyes.

Derek shakes his head, “I’m not sure, I didn’t really look before I blew his head off.”

“Y-You-” Stiles takes a breath in and means to ask Derek a question, he knows that’s what he was about to do, but he can’t really find the words.

“Hey,” Derek looks back at Stiles, “You gotta finish that song.”

“ _No_ ,” Stiles utter so quietly that he begins to question if he even actually said it. He knows he’s not supposed to go to sleep, he remembers his training and he remembers that falling asleep is bad, but he can’t really stop the lull of rest from tugging at him, “ _Can’t,_ ” He whispers.

Derek closes his eyes as his body starts shaking, “Stilinski,” He says, mouth and throat going dry, “Don’t-” He twists to look back as he hears the vehicle turn onto his road and he stays by Stiles, hands drawing in as much pain as he can as he waits for the ambulance.

  
[MageStiles](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/) ϟ [Sparklinski](http://sparklinski.tumblr.com/)  



	10. ο Chlo̱mós Lýkos

Derek sits beside Stiles’s bed in the quiet, otherwise empty hospital room, his files in hand as he looks over everything he can, reaching up to scratch through his stubble. It’s not even light out yet, and he hasn’t slept, but he’s more awake than he’s been in a while.

He’s wearing the emergency shirt from the back of his car, one that he grabbed before joining Stiles in the ambulance when they came and picked him up. He’s since then washed his hands and arms, and his henley was taken and thrown away at some point. The knees of his black jeans are still covered in blood, but he’s been too busy to go home and change them or shower.

He reaches over for his glass of water, hands still shaking violently as he tries to breathe calmly. He told Stiles before how he doesn’t get excited on cases anymore, but last night definitely did the trick, the downside being it’s more of a low than a high, and he’s been miserable since the stabbing.

Heather comes bustling into the room clutching her purse to her side, heart racing frantically as she stops and looks at the man sitting next to Stiles, “I came as soon as I heard... Who are you?” She asks and moves closer, sitting her purse down on the stand next to Stiles’s bed.

Derek stands up, setting his files in his seat as he looks at the small woman, “I’m agent Hale,” He says, brows knitting together, “I’m his partner.”

“He was supposed to be with Scott,” Heather says, staring up at the intimidating looking man before moving closer to the bed and leaning over the side. She frowns and reaches up to pet her palm against Stiles’s hair, glancing up at the agent, “And if you’re his partner, why’d you let him get stabbed?”

Derek watches the woman and clenches his jaws for a moment, “I didn’t **let** him get stabbed. The assailant pulled up behind us and moved to his side of the car, took him out, and **then** stabbed him. I was on the driver’s side.”

“You should’ve been quicker, then,” Heather says sternly, eyes watering as she looks between Stiles and his partner, “You should’ve stopped it from happening.”

“If it was humanly possible, I would’ve,” Derek responds and sits back down, “You shouldn’t blame and point fingers at people you’ve never met before. If you’d been in the situation yourself you’d realize there was nothing that could’ve been done to prevent it from happening.”

“If I shouldn’t blame and point fingers at the one person who’s supposed to keep him safe, then I don’t know who I’m supposed to blame,” Heather says bitterly, sitting down on the side of Stiles’s bed as she continues to touch his hair and cheek, “It’s your job, _agent_. Even if you weren’t on the clock.”

“Just because it’s my job to keep him safe, and it’s my responsibility, doesn’t mean you can stick your hand into the middle of it and start throwing around blame,” Derek says as he looks at her coldly, “The world doesn’t work like that and neither do people. He took the job, he became an FBI agent, he **also** took in those responsibilities.”

“This is still your fault,” Heather says resolutely, leveling the agent with a firm look.

“ _Ladies_ ,” Stiles croaks suddenly, slowly blinking his eyes open and grimacing in pain, “You’re both pretty, calm down.”

Derek frowns, even though he feels somewhat relieved to hear Stiles’s voice, “Shut up, Stilinski.”

Stiles smiles dopily at his partner’s comment, but looks at Heather and reaches up slowly to touch the hand on his face, “Hey, baby.”

“Don’t ‘hey, baby’ me,” Heather says seriously, brushing her thumb against his skin, “I can smell the alcohol on you, you shouldn’t have drunk so much.”

“Didn’t,” Stiles shakes his head and wets his dry lips, fighting the urge to sit up in the bed, “Just had a few drinks.”

“Don’t get up,” Derek reaches out to hold Stiles’s shoulder, “You’ve only been out a few hours, are you thirsty?”

“Yeah,” Stiles licks his lips again and tries not to gag at how dried out his mouth feels.

Derek hands his glass over carefully, fortunately it comes with a straw and he looks back down at his files as he waits for Stiles to take it.

Heather pointedly takes the glass from Derek’s hand and shoots him a subtle glare, “I can handle it, thanks,” She says and puts the straw to Stiles’s lips, “Slow sips, okay?”

“He got stabbed,” Derek says, raising a brow, “He didn’t get turned into a one year old.”

Stiles takes a small drink and looks at his partner, smiling weakly, “Let her baby me, man. I wanna milk it for as long as I can.”

“Keep it up and you’ll be taking care of yourself,” Heather warns lightly, sitting the glass off to the side before looking at Derek again, “And it’s not your business to tell me how to treat my fiance.”

“It’s not your business to tell me how to do my job, but you did it anyways,” Derek says back and shifts as his phone starts ringing. He takes it out of his pocket, unlocking it to answer as he glances at Stiles.

Stiles ignores the both of them bickering and shakes his head, because their first time meeting one another wasn’t supposed to go like this. It was supposed to go well and they were supposed to like one another, he **needed** them to like one another, “Please don’t fight,” He says, looking at his IV, “And I’m not your fiance, I’m your boyfriend,” He says too low for Heather to hear.

“What was that, honey?” Heather asks, resting her hand on his chest.

“Nothing,” Stiles lies and smiles at her.

Derek smirks to himself as he listens to the agent on the other side and narrows his brows as he nods, “I’m not leaving until he’s out,” He says as he checks his watch, “I don’t really care, if they wanna put it off, let them - I can’t deal with it right now.”

“I was so worried when I got the call,” Heather says, brushing the skin peeking out from atop Stiles’s hospital gown, “You need to be more careful.”

“S’nothing to worry about,” Stiles insists and shakes his head, scratching at the side of his neck because the morphine’s making him itchy, “I’m okay, I’m alive - accidents happen.”

Derek all but growls in annoyance as he ends his call and feels the screen of the phone crack between his fingers, but he stuffs it in his coat pocket and glances over at Stiles and his _girlfriend_ , “Does it hurt any?”

“No,” Stiles rolls his head to look at Derek, “Pretty sure they got me drugged up on morphine, feels like my skin’s crawling.”

Derek nods and feels the cuts on his fingers healing and he wipes his hand off in his pocket the best he can, “Sounds uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Stiles snorts and smiles at the older man, still feeling a little woozy.

Heather looks Derek over and glances at the door, “You can go home now if you’d like, he needs to get his rest.”

“I’m not leaving until my partner leaves,” Derek responds and pulls his hand from his pocket to continue looking over the photos in the manila folder.

Stiles doesn’t particularly understand the pissing contest going on between the two of them, but he doesn’t really say much else about it either and just chalks it up to his partner’s poor people skills. The fact that the older man refuses to leave until he’s released makes his chest swell a little with unexplainable happiness, though, and he continues to lay there grinning as if he hadn’t just been (literally) stabbed in the back.

Derek watches the strange expression on the boy’s face before he looks at Heather, “Can’t you cook? Why don’t you go home and cook him something?” He suggests before turning back to Stiles, “Don’t eat any hospital food.”

Heather’s about to argue, but Stiles’s face lights up a little at the mention of food and he touches her forearm, “Could you, baby?” He asks, pouting ridiculously, “It’s like, crazy early in the morning, but I’d kill for some of your lasagna.”

Heather sighs and leans forward to kiss Stiles, making sure it’s on the lips and not the cheek before she stands up, “I’ll be back as soon as it’s done,” She says, throwing Stiles’s partner a cold look before walking out.

Derek watches her leave and rolls his eyes in annoyance, “She’s nice,” He says as sarcastically as possible, which probably comes out sounding sincere.

“She’s pretty okay,” Stiles says and grabs the railings attached to his bed, grunting and wincing as he sits up like Derek told him not to.

Derek reaches out and pushes Stiles back down, giving him a severe look as his eyes widen, “ **Don’t** ,” He says firmly.

“What was it you just said?” Stiles asks and pulls at the white sheet covering him, “I got stabbed, I wasn’t turned into a one year old.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Derek responds, “You got stabbed in your lower back, babies can move all they want, they’re not mortally wounded, you fucking idiot.”

“I love you, too,” Stiles says sardonically and rolls his eyes, “You seriously can take off if you want, you don’t have to stick around.”

“I’m not leaving you here,” Derek looks around the room, keeping his hand firm on Stiles’s chest to hold him down, “It’s not safe, you’re not safe. I wasn’t joking when I told you not to eat the hospital food. You weren’t just stabbed by some random person that wanted to stab someone in the back.”

“Someone knows,” Stiles breathes and closes his eyes, listening to the beeping of the machine attached to him as he thinks about how nice the weight of the older man’s hand is against his chest, “They were hired to kill me, weren’t they?”

“Yes,” Derek says as he looks at Stiles then, “Neither of us can handle the case, but I’ve been following it since agent Parker picked it up last night,” _which was no less than three hours ago, but feels like ages since it started_ , “Your photo was in the assailant's car, he had a few grand in the trunk, his name was Michael Ramsey. The leads have already gone stale, though.”

“Of fucking course they have,” Stiles says and shakes his head, drawing in a tremulous breath, “Whoever it is that wants me dead doesn’t want this leading back to them… And they’re not gonna stop, not until I’m dead.”

Derek frowns and looks at the file, “That’s why I’m here,” He hands it over to Stiles, “Making sure _nothing_ gets into this room. I can’t see why they wouldn’t take the opportunity to get you while you were at your weakest. You were drunk last night, which probably means they’ve been watching us for a **while** , waiting for the right moment.”

Stiles opens his eyes and looks at the file on his lap, but he doesn’t bother opening it because it’s pointless, “We’re gonna have to be more vigilant,” He says, part of him wanting to touch the hand on his chest, but he opts for looking at Derek instead, “Sorry for getting you into this shit, I knew it was gonna happen and I did it anyway.”

“I was already in it when Boyd got shot,” Derek says dismissively, “You followed your instincts, and **clearly** they were right, you can’t beat yourself up for something like that. Trust me, I know,” He sighs and turns his seat slightly for comfort, “I have to see another therapist later today for shooting Michael Ramsey’s head off his shoulders.”

Stiles smiles slowly and stares at Derek fondly, and if he’s called out on it he’s totally just going to blame it on the drugs.

“They’re mostly concerned with the fact that I acted rashly,” Derek says as he shrugs helplessly, “They were questioning me about it during your surgery and they don’t like that I don’t feel remorse for taking a life, so now I have two therapists to see every week, instead of one.”

“Well,” Stiles says softly and tries to tune out the annoying fucking machine, “I, for one, am glad you don’t feel any remorse for killing the fucking asshole,” He shrugs halfheartedly, “Shitty that you have to see two therapists now, though. Maybe you should just lie a little, pretend like you care or something.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “I’m not good at pretending I care,” He says as he sits back, tensing and reaching for his gun when a nurse passes by the room and he sighs as he looks at Stiles, “I hate your girlfriend, but she’s right. I should’ve protected you, I should’ve been quicker.”

“Hey, no,” Stiles shakes his head and frowns, instinctively reaching up to cover the hand on his chest with his own, “She’s not right, she’s never fucking right so don’t listen to her,” He says sternly, “You’re the reason I’m alive right now. If it wouldn’t have been for you, I would’ve fallen asleep and I probably would’ve died. So don’t belittle yourself.”

Derek looks at the hand touching his as he grows still and silent for a moment, “I thought you were gonna die,” He admits and swallows, “I should’ve listened to my instincts, as paranoid as they are most of the time, I thought someone was following us but I ignored it because every time before then, I’ve been wrong.”

“Shit happens, Hale,” Stiles says and curls his fingers around the older man’s hand, fingertips resting against the other agent’s palm, “I don’t blame you. I knew I was putting myself at risk by snooping around, none of this is on you. You’re a good partner and I’m fucking lucky to have you.”

“That’s the second time I’ve had a partner’s blood on my hands,” Derek says as he looks at Stiles, “If I was any good at what I did, that wouldn’t be the case. You’re not lucky, Stilinski, you’re cursed.”

Stiles stares at Derek and just squeezes his partner’s hand tighter as he sighs, “Shut the fuck up, Hale,” He says softly, mimicking the other man’s most commonly used words.

Derek smiles slightly and squeezes back gently, “You owe me a shirt.”

“I owe you a lot of things,” Stiles points out and closes his eyes, smiling to himself.

* * *

“I don’t get why this is even necessary,” Stiles grumbles and it’s a miracle he’s even gotten to this point by himself, sitting upright with his legs hanging off the side of the bed. They even brought in a walker to make matters worse, making him feel like an old man.

“Where’s Heather, anyway?” He asks and looks at Derek, wondering idly if his ass is showing through the gown, “She not back yet?”

Derek stands up, eying the walker warily before pushing it aside, “You asked her to make lasagna,” He says and offers his hand to Stiles, “Get up.”

“I know I asked her to make lasagna,” Stiles says and looks at his partner’s hand before meeting Derek’s eyes again, “It’s just been a while, figured she’d be back already-just give me the walker, dude, you don’t have to help me do this.”

“And watch you slip and fall on your face?” Derek asks rhetorically, “It’s fine.” The last thing the boy needs right now is to lose his footing and tear his stitches.

“Fine,” Stiles says and gestures to the older man, “But I’m gonna need more than just one hand, dumb ass. I need support… And you need to come closer for fuck’s sake.”

Derek rolls his eyes and takes off his coat first, setting it in his chair before moving to stand in front of Stiles, offering both his instead and raising his brows expectantly.

Stiles huffs and looks up at Derek, “This isn’t easy, okay?” He mutters mindlessly and puts his forearms in his partner’s hands, his own grasping at the older man’s forearms as he winces and tries to scoot off of the bed and to his feet, “Ouch.”

Derek frowns, stopping Stiles and reaching out to grab the younger man’s waist, lifting him carefully and setting him down on his feet beside the bed, “You didn’t feel anything pull, did you?” He asks as he tries to gauge Stiles’s face for any signs of pain.

“No,” Stiles shakes his head and clutches at Derek’s biceps - _which are kind of ridiculous by the way_ , “Is my ass hanging out?” He asks, looking up at his partner worriedly, “I can feel a draft, Hale. I don’t want anyone seeing my ass.”

Derek glances behind Stiles, which consists of looking down at an angle, and then reaches out, touching the back of the boy’s gown and holding it closed, “You’re fine.”

“This is stupid, they should’ve just given me two gowns,” Stiles mutters and takes in a tentative breath, “Okay, big guy, we need to see how well I can actually move. You gonna walk backwards or something?”

“Take your time,” Derek says as he moves back a little, the hand on the boy’s waist retreating while he keeps the other behind Stiles, watching him closely and glancing down at his feet.

Stiles nods shortly and all but clings to Derek, dropping his head forward and resting his forehead against the solid mass of his partner’s chest as he watches his own feet, trying to force them to move. Gasping at the uncomfortable amount of pain, he moves his right foot first and clenches his jaw tightly, then moves his left as well, “This sucks.”

“You were stabbed in the back,” Derek says as he tries to ease Stiles’s pain using the hand behind him, carefully pressing his palm against the skin between the gown without exposing his backside, “It’s not gonna be easy.”

Stiles looks up at Derek then and frowns, legs shaking as he moves abysmally slow, “When do you think I can go back to work?” He asks worriedly.

“Most stab wounds take four to eight weeks to heal,” Derek mutters, stepping back only when he has to, “You can probably go back to work in two, but you’ll still be stuck on paperwork, with permission to get up from your desk every once in a while to stretch your legs."

"But they won’t let you talk to leads outside of the office,” He watches Stiles and tries not to ease **too** much of the boy’s pain. Once he’s on his own, Derek won’t be able to make him comfortable, it’s best he gets use to it now, “We can have them come in, if we have to. And, since I’m your partner, I’m grounded as well.”

“Fucking balls,” Stiles sighs and stills for a moment, taking a second to rest as he keeps his hands on Derek’s arms, “Not only does this suck, but it’s fucking bullshit. I don’t have time for a setback like this and neither do you.”

He shakes his head, “Have you talked to Scott yet?”

“He called earlier, before I woke you up,” Derek says, holding Stiles firmly as he waits, “He came by while we were sleeping. Denise and her kids are safe, he got the name of the distributor, but it’s a pseud.”

Stiles’s eyes widen and he splutters a little bit, trying not to get too excited as he looks up at the older man, “Well?” He asks expectantly, “What is it?”

Derek narrows his brows, “Chlo̱mós Lýkos,” He says and shrugs, “I think it’s greek, but I broke my phone, so I haven’t had time to look into it.”

“I can have Scotty bring my laptop by when he comes back,” Stiles stares at the senior agent curiously, “How’d you break your phone?”

Derek shrugs dismissively, “I break a lot of phones,” He sighs and shakes his head, “I guess he called yours when I didn’t pick up. He’ll be here around lunch, if you wanna call him before then, he’s been trying to help with your case since it went stale.”

“I don’t want him touching my case,” Stiles says suddenly, swallowing nervously, “I-I mean, it’s bad enough he’s at risk because of Denise and us pulling him into this, but I don’t want him touching my case.”

“I told him that when I found out, but we can’t stop him,” Derek says, moving back so Stiles is forced to make more steps, “He’s determined. You’re his best friend, if it were the other way around what would you be doing right now?”

“That’s besides the point,” Stiles says and grunts softly as he moves forward, “Scott’s like my brother, he’s emotionally compromised. He can’t handle my case, don’t let him. You’re good, find an excuse to get him off of it.”

“I stopped trying when he started getting leads,” Derek responds, watching Stiles firmly, “Sometimes being emotionally compromised isn’t a bad thing. He’s focused, he’s not acting out of rage, he’s concerned.”

“I still don’t like it,” Stiles says honestly and sighs, continually shaking his head as he drops his forehead back against Derek’s chest, bottom half of his body aching with each miniscule step, “It’s not safe.”

“McCall knows the risks,” Derek tries to reassure his partner, “We didn’t leave much space for doubt when we told him. He knows more than Boyd ever did, Stilinski, every job has some risk in it - it’s never safe.”

Stiles sighs inwardly at that, because he knows Derek’s right, but it doesn’t mean he has to fucking like it, “Is this enough walking for now?” He asks impatiently and glances longingly back at his bed.

Derek nods and slowly helps Stiles to turn around, “But you have to walk back to the bed,” Which is like saying that the boy is **halfway** there.

“I hate you,” Stiles lies and wets his lips, forcing himself to move forward a little more and staunching down the instinct to wince with every step.

“Right,” Derek says as he smiles slightly, watching the tense expression on the boy’s face and trying to remind himself that he can’t keep taking away the pain, Stiles **will** eventually be on his own at home, which is more discomforting than he’d like it to be.

Stiles sits down slowly once he’s close enough, fingers turning white from the forceful grip he’s got on Derek, but he lets go, “Can you help me get my legs back up into the bed?” He asks, feeling more like a burden than usual.

Derek wraps an arm around Stiles’s back, his other lifting the boy’s legs effortlessly as he helps him lay down, easing the pain as much as he can, just in case it gets to be too much. He knows he shouldn’t, but he does it anyways, pulling back finally and sitting down in his seat once he’s moved the files and his coat from it.

“Once you get home, I won’t be there to help you get up any time you want.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles says and kind of wishes that weren’t the case, because he knows Heather will baby him, but she won’t be able to help him the way his partner can, “It’s fine,” He mumbles, voice lowering, “Here’s to hoping my legs don’t atrophy before I heal.”

“Just keep trying to walk,” Derek says as he watches Stiles, “If you want, I can come over after work - it’ll give you some time to get off your ass.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I don’t think Heather’s gonna be able to handle me leaning on her so much,” Stiles says and looks out the window of his hospital room, “I guess that way we can discuss the case and shit, too.”

Derek nods and shifts back in his seat, “I can get you a few big cases to work on on your own time, as well, that way you’re not wasting your time watching superhero movies. You’re getting paid for the time off, might as well use it for work. You can just give me any leads you produce while at home and I can take care of them until you’re back in the office.”

“I **have** cases to work on, thank you very much,” Stiles says, hinting to the Hale case and Boyd’s as he raises his brows, turning his head to look at Derek, “And there’s nothing wrong with Batman, so you can bite me.”

“I don’t mean those cases, I think it’s best you stay off of both of them until you’re recovered,” Derek responds sternly, “And if you don’t already have a security system installed in your house, you should look into it. But I can get you a few bigger cases that are more about observing evidence and interviews, that way it’s not much field work and you can do it from your couch.”

“I don’t think you’re hearing me correctly,” Stiles says, “I **have** cases to work on and I’m sure as Hell not putting them off just because I got stabbed. We’re close, I can feel it and I’m not putting it aside right now.”

“We’re so close that you nearly got yourself killed,” Derek responds, raising his voice, “ **Leave it** , Stilinski. You’re not in any condition to continue those cases. What we have isn’t going anywhere for now. We have a name, that’s **all** we have, and until you’re back on your feet, that’s all we’re gonna have. Looking at it while you’re injured is a waste of time.”

“It’s not a waste of time, Hale, it’s my fucking motivation,” Stiles raises his voice a little as well, “If they want me dead, the hired assassins aren’t going to just stop because I’m injured. I need to get it figured out while I still can, I might not be so lucky next time.”

“They **might** stop, if you stop putting your nose into other people’s business,” Derek says as he sits back and huffs in frustration, “I’ve had your blood on my hands once already, I don’t want it to happen again. Just let it go.”

“You should know me better than that by now,” Stiles says and shakes his head, looking away from his partner finally, “I’m not letting it go.”

Derek watches Stiles for a moment and sighs, “You’re the single most infuriating person in the entire fucking world, **why** are you my partner?”

“To make your life a living Hale?” Stiles guesses and the corner of his mouth twists up into a weak grin.

“That was already the case before you showed up,” Derek mutters and stares at the look on the boy’s face. He’s never been so fucking pissed off at someone and still found it amusing and somewhat comforting. He’s aware of what it means, and he doesn’t like it in the slightest.

Heather knocks on the big wooden door to announce her presence before moving into the room, smile faltering a little once she fully steps in and sees that Derek is still there, “Hey,” She says, looking at Stiles then as she goes around the other side of the bed, sitting the tupperware with lasagna in it on the table, “Brought your food.”

“Thanks,” Stiles smiles and reaches for it, taking the plastic fork out of it’s wrapping before pulling the lid of the tupperware off, “What took you so long, thought you would’ve been back hours ago.”

Derek watches the exchange warily, frowning at the way the woman smells. He remembers the sharp floral scent from before, her perfume, and then her own scent mixed into it, but this is… _Different_.

It’s definitely masculine, and it’s not something that would occur if she’d talked to one of the doctors in the hospital, it’s close, and almost overwhelming if he’s being honest. He narrows his brows as he stares at her, _maybe she has a brother_.

“Figured I’d do a few loads of laundry while I was cooking,” Heather lies and leans in to kiss Stiles’s forehead, “Sorry I took so long, just wanted to get it all caught up.”

Derek frowns even more at the sudden change in her heart beats and watches her incredulously. He has to **actually** stop himself from accusing her outright, but his stomach twists uncomfortably and he looks away from them both.

She could’ve been grieving, he tries to reassure himself ( **if** that’s reassuring at all), maybe she was with family, maybe she just doesn’t want Stiles to know that she’s upset. There has to be some clear, logical explanation that doesn’t make him sound completely paranoid. Even though in the back of his mind he knows that the scent on her has nothing to do with family, siblings do smell _somewhat_ similar.

“Dunno why I haven’t wifed you yet,” Stiles smiles at Heather and takes a bite of the lasagna, groaning at how good it is before giving her a greasy kiss.

“You and me both,” Heather says and tries to keep the bitterness out of her tone, forcing a small  grin for Stiles.

Derek can barely stand the sound of her voice, and if he wasn’t concerned for his partner’s well-being, he’d leave the room, but he settles for directing his attention back to the files in his hand as he fights back the urge to say something scathing.

  
[MageStiles](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/) ϟ [Sparklinski](http://sparklinski.tumblr.com/)  



	11. Full Moon Blues

Stiles pours himself over the Hale case and Boyd’s when he gets home, because it’s all he can really do in between eating, sleeping and using his stupid walker to move around.

The details aren’t things he hasn’t noticed before, but he makes a list of things he wants to check out on a piece of paper before sitting it aside to call Derek. He’d expected the older man to come over his first day home, but he didn’t and Stiles was left relying on Heather and her small body for support until Scott brought the walker over.

With the other line ringing, he presses his phone between his ear and shoulder as he brings up Google on his laptop to type in Clomos Lykos.

“Hey, buddy,” Stiles says when Derek picks up and notes the curiously groggy tone to the older man’s voice, “Why do you sound so tired? Are you napping during lunch or something?” He hits enter on the search engine and frowns when nothing comes up.

Derek reaches out blindly for his new phone, pulling it off the corner of the bed and sitting upright as he looks at it and frowns before unlocking it and pressing it to his ear, “Stilinski?”

“Just thought you were supposed to come over after work yesterday,” Stiles says distractedly and types in Lykos by itself, searching the word, “You never showed up. You coming today?”

“I don’t nap at work,” Derek says in annoyance as he drops his head back against the wall, “Why are you calling?”

“Since when do you take time off?” Stiles asks with furrowed brows and clicks around a little when the results come up. Derek had been right, the name is Greek and apparently Lykos means wolf - which is kind of creepy.

“I didn’t mean every single day,” Derek clarifies, “I had to take some time off.”

Stiles scribbles down the word ‘wolf’ next to Lykos on his paper and proceeds to do the same kind of search for Clomos, “Okay, but why are you taking time off **now**?” He asks, “I kinda need you, dude. By the time you get around to coming over I’ll be walking by myself.”

Derek rolls his eyes and lays back down as he holds the phone, “I take time off all the time, you’ve only been working with the FBI a few weeks.”

“Personal?” Stiles snorts and smiles at first, but frowns when he has a little more difficulty finding something other than an urban dictionary definition of the word Clomos, “Since when do you really have a personal life? No offense, but I kinda **am** your personal life.”

“I’ll come over tomorrow,” Derek says as he closes his eyes and fights the urge to gasp in pain, “It’s personal, you can wait.”

Derek ends the call and turns his phone off, putting it back on the bed before curling in on himself. He doesn’t have time to deal with annoying, childish brats, the control he has is waning and Stiles doesn’t need to hear him howling in pain when it starts getting closer to midnight.

Stiles’s frown deepens a little more when Derek randomly hangs up on him, but he doesn’t bother calling the older man back.

Instead he settles for refining his search and narrowing his brows when he gets lead to the same thing over and over again, so he writes down ‘pale’ next to Clomos and huffs, “ _Pale wolf_ , yeah that’s not weird at all,” He says to himself and shuts his laptop.

* * *

Derek comes over to Stiles’s house the next day after work, getting the directions from Scott since he hasn’t been there before. He doesn’t call Stiles, the boy already knows he’s coming.

He’s still a little worn from the night before, but he can only take off so many days from work - and considering he’s a complete dick the day **before** the full moon - he opts for that instead of the following.

He’s barely out of the office doors before he’s removing his coat, loosening his tie, and unbuttoning the top buttons of his dress shirt. He always feels caged after the full moon, and wearing a suit doesn’t help.

He tosses the newer files and list of possible leads into the passenger’s seat before leaving for Stiles’s house, the drive is quick and he ends up rolling back his sleeves to his elbows, growing more and more frustrated with it as he drives.

He climbs out of the car quickly, taking the files and locking up as he moves to the front door, observing the house curiously before ringing the doorbell.

Heather answers the door and tries to keep her face from falling when she looks at Derek, hand gripping the door knob firmly, “He said you were coming over today,” She says flatly, then steps out of the way, “Please, come in,” She forces out.

Derek moves passed her, looking down at the little woman as he makes his way into the house and removes his shoes quickly. He doesn’t bother saying anything back, opening his mouth might be a mistake because he’s sure the only thing that would come out would be an accusation of adultery.

He walks into the living room, not at **all** surprised by the state of things and raises his brows at Stiles, “Tired of sitting on your ass?”

Stiles looks up from the papers strewn about everywhere and grins at his partner, quickly noticing how the older man has his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up, “Yeah, you here to sweep me off my feet, big guy?” He asks and snorts out a weak chuckle.

Derek swallows at the comment and nods subtly as he moves to Stiles, “I got copies of a couple more Blue Moon cases, since you’re not letting it go I figured you’d be interested in looking them over. It can wait,” He sets them down on the couch by Stiles before leaning down to help him up.

“Thanks,” Stiles reaches up when Derek leans down and grabs the other agent’s shoulders, wincing at how stiff he feels, “Oh hey, I have something to tell you about the um-the distributor, about the pseud.”

Derek lifts Stiles carefully, one hand firmly on the boy’s lower back, the other under his arm as he helps his partner to his feet, “You looked into it?” He asks, not surprised in the slightest, “It’s Greek, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is,” Stiles nods and moves his hands to Derek’s arms instead of his shoulders, glancing up to give his partner a pointed look, “I was gonna tell you yesterday, but you hung up on me before I had a chance to. The alias, it kinda roughly translates to _pale wolf_. Now tell me that’s not a little weird, especially given the fact that the drug is called **Blue Moon**.”

“And it has wolfsbane in it,” Derek responds back, feeling increasingly uneasy at this information, “Someone’s watching too much Underworld,” He says as he sighs in annoyance and narrows his brows. That sense of paranoia is setting in again, he’s not sure what the pseud’s translation is supposed to indicate - as far as he knows, pale, or **white** werewolves, aren’t really a thing; most are black.

Heather walks into the room and props herself against the door frame, crossing her arms as she looks at the both of them, “Now that he’s here, I’m gonna run out and get some grocery shopping done, okay? Maybe pick a few things up for the house.”

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles nods and looks over at Heather, feeling the need to remove at least one of his hands from Derek, “Just be careful and take your cell phone.”

Derek frowns as he listens to the exchange, keeping his head down as he tries not to grind his teeth in disgust.

Heather nods and offers a tight smile before leaving.

Stiles looks up at Derek and mindlessly puts his other hand back where it was, continuing their conversation as if Heather hadn’t interrupted, “What? You mean you don’t believe in stuff like that?” He asks, acting affronted.

“Lycanthropy is a diagnosed psychiatric syndrome,” Derek explains, meeting Stiles’s eyes, “I’ve dealt with more than one case of hairy men running around naked and trying to bite people. It’s not that surprising.”

He stares at the boy silently, searching his face for a moment as he frowns. It’d be easier if he could just **tell** his partner everything - keeping Stiles in the dark is just as dangerous as telling him, though. But if he could, he could at least let his partner know about Heather. He stands still, brows relaxing as he starts feeling incredibly guilty.

“You’re deflecting,” Stiles says and observes the older man’s expression, wishing he could read his partner’s mind to just get a vague idea of what he thinks about, “I didn’t ask for the definition, I know what it means. I asked if you believed in shit like that,” He points out, “Things that go bump in the night. I for one kinda like the idea, the possibility of there being some kind of unknown supernatural element in the world that we don’t know about.”

“Paranormal phenomena,” Derek says, raising his brows, “This isn’t the X-Files, Stilinski, we don’t work in the basement.” He shakes his head, “The world isn’t nearly as romantic as people like to think it is.”

“Why do you gotta bust my balls like that?” Stiles shakes his head and sighs when he realizes they’ve just been standing there with one another like an awkward prom date, “Just let me believe, dude… And help me move away from the couch.”

Derek smiles slightly and steps to the side of the table, holding Stiles firmly as he guides the boy along, “Working with the FBI kills that blind dreaming about strange alien entities in the world, give it time.”

“Nope,” Stiles says stubbornly and slowly moves with Derek, “I’m not gonna let it snuff out my imagination. I’ve believed in shit like werewolves and vampires since I was a little kid, m’not letting the FBI take that away from me.”

“You’re _still_ a little kid,” Derek responds as he stares at Stiles, walking him around the couch to a more open space of the living room, his hands moving to hold his partner’s torso firmly but being mindful not to press too hard.

“Am not,” Stiles argues and looks down, grinning softly to himself before wiping the expression away to meet the older man’s eyes again, “Oh, um, do you think you could do me a favor when you go back to work tomorrow?”

Derek raises his brows, “What do you need?”

“Well, first of all I should probably ask you what you think of Lahey,” Stiles says, shrugging, “You think he’s trustworthy?”

“He’s young,” Derek observes, “I don’t know him that well, but he does good work.”

“What about Finstock?” Stiles asks, “Which one of them do you trust more?”

“Probably Lahey,” Derek admits and wets his lips, “Finstock is… Weird.”

“You’re weird,” Stiles says flatly and huffs out a breath, “But um, do you think you could take the actual file, the manila one and have Lahey dust it for fingerprints? You don’t have to tell him anything, but seeing as it’s classified and we think it might be because of someone high up… Maybe they’ve actually had their hands on the actual case at some point.”

Derek frowns and nods, “Yeah, we’ll have to replace it, though, that dust isn’t easy to get off paper,” He moves back, guiding Stiles along, “I’ll get a new folder for it tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Stiles says sincerely and moves his hands from his partner’s biceps down to his forearms, putting a little distance between them, “Just… Let me know what he finds.”

Derek touches Stiles’s skin tentatively, feeling suddenly like this is some strange kind of form of dance that they’re doing in the middle of his house, “Are you in any pain?”

“It twinges a little and I kinda feel stiff as Hell, but I’ve got enough percocet in my system to paralyze a baby calf so…” Stiles shrugs and absentmindedly brushes his right thumb over his partner’s significantly hairy arm, “I’m good.”

“Good,” Derek says back, swallowing tightly, “Has your girlfriend looked at it to make sure it’s not getting irritated?”

“She changed the bandage once when I first got home, but not since,” Stiles tells him and lifts a brow, “You wanna help me?”

Derek frowns, feeling suddenly annoyed, “Haven’t you been home for two **days**?” He asks rhetorically, “I’ll help, do you know where she’s been keeping all of the stuff to clean it out?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s all in the bathroom,” Stiles nods towards the hallway, “And she’s-she’s forgetful. She has things she has to do as well, I can’t expect her to just drop everything to help me.”

“You were stabbed in the back,” Derek argues, guiding Stiles in the direction he motioned to, “Being forgetful about something like that comes at a price, it could get infected, and it’s **deep enough** that if it does, you’ll die. It’s not a cut or a scrape, it needs to be taken care of constantly.”

“Is there a reason you’re chastising **me**?” Stiles asks, grinning weakly at the taller man, “I’d change my own bandages if I could tolerate to twist that way, but I can’t. It’s fine, you’re being melodramatic.”

“I’m not being melodramatic, and I’m not chastising **you** ,” Derek clarifies and stares at Stiles, “I don’t want to lose you. I saved your life, and I didn’t do it just so you could die **afterwards** because someone was careless and didn’t change your fucking bandages.”

“She means well,” Stiles says and furrows his brows at the way his heart flutters abnormally, “At least she hasn’t been starving me,” He says optimistically, “Which is kind of a feat considering I think she actually blames me for getting stabbed.”

Derek’s practically glaring at this point and if he doesn’t calm down he’s going to end up hurting Stiles or punching his fist through a wall, “I’ll change it from now on,” Which means that he’ll have to come by in the morning, around lunch, and then twice after work - thankfully the full moon’s done and over with until next month.

He reaches down behind Stiles, pushing his hand under the shirt and touching the skin. It’s abnormally warm, which is concerning, and he meets Stiles’s eyes, “You should’ve told me sooner.”

“You weren’t really in a talkative mood,” Stiles raises his brows pointedly and ignores the way his breath catches in his throat when his partner touches him, “You were grumpy and you hung up on me, I dunno what else I was supposed to do… Call you back? Annoy the shit out of you?”

He removes one of his hands from Derek to flail a little, sighing as he hobbles towards the toilet seat. Lifting his arm up, he grabs at the back of his shirt and pulls it up, hooking the fabric on the front of his neck as he winces and straddles the toilet with his bare back out towards the older man, “Fix me, doc.”

Derek looks at Stiles sitting there and closes his eyes for a moment before moving to him, everything’s set up on the counter like it’s actually been used in the past two days, which is more annoying than it should be - forgetful his ass, he’s starting to think the bitch is being careless on purpose.

He washes his hands in the sink thoroughly before he grabs it all and has to squat just in order to be able to do things properly. The skin around the wound is red and irritated, so he’s as gentle as he can be when he removes the last bandaging, “This doesn’t hurt?”

Stiles props his arms on the back of the toilet bowl and lays his head down, staring at the wall as he feels Derek taking the bandages off, “Lots of percocet,” He tries to explain, “Probably more than I should be taking, but she thinks it’ll help with the pain.”

“Stop taking it,” Derek says at once, putting the old bandaging in a plastic bag and setting it aside, standing back up to wash his hands as he shakes his head, “The only time you should take it is when the pain isn’t something you can handle anymore.”

Stiles turns his head a little on his arms and looks at Derek, trying not to snort at him, “It’s called preventative measures, Hale. I don’t handle pain well, she’s just looking out for me.”

“You **need** to know about pain from a wound like this,” Derek says as he moves back to Stiles once more with a wet square cloth he’s rubbed some soap Heather had put aside with the supplies, squatting back down to clean around the wound, “Especially if you haven’t been having it cared for. Knowing how much it hurts could save your life.”

“So you’re basically telling me to endure the pain,” Stiles says and blinks slowly, “See, this is what I meant when I said you’re not very nice. It didn’t go **that** deep, I’ll be fine and I’m not cutting back on the painkillers until I can actually walk without wanting to collapse.”

“It was a four inch blade, I’m well aware how deep it went in,” Derek responds as his free hand rests on Stiles’s back to hold him in place, “I was the one that was calm enough to know not to remove it when you were laying on the ground asking me to take it out.”

“Kinda glad you didn’t listen to me,” Stiles says, “I don’t remember much, just mainly staring at pavement.”

Derek frowns as he thinks back on it, he remembers, he remembers **really** well, “I’ve handled a few stab wounds on the job, fortunately.”

“My partner in shining armor,” Stiles murmurs in amusement, “Sorry my blood got all over your clothes, that was a nice shirt.”

“I used it to stop the bleeding,” Derek says dismissively, “It’s the most useful shirt I’ve had.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says into his arm, “Don’t let me forget and I’ll totally pick you up a new one out of the little boy’s section. It should fit about the same,” He teases.

Derek raises a brow, “It wasn’t that tight,” He says as he continues cleaning outward along the boy’s skin before finally pulling away, setting the cloth in the sink as he washes his hands a third time.

“It so was,” Stiles chuckles and the action kind of hurts, causing him to pull a face, “Like I think I might’ve even felt bad for your chest hair, suffocating them and tamping them down like that - it’s cruel.”

“It’s-” Derek stops and looks at Stiles in confusion, it’s probably the strangest thing anyone’s said and he’s not really sure what **kind** of comment it is, “Shut up, Stilinski,” He says because he can’t think of anything else to say as he moves back to put on the new dressing for the wound.

“Ah, there it is,” Stiles says and presses a grin to his forearm, “Knew it was only a matter of time before you said it. You done yet?”

“Almost,” Derek answers as he looks at the wound closely before covering it up, “You’re lucky it’s not that bad,” _It smells bad, but it doesn’t smell like_ **death** , “Another day, though, and you’d probably start feeling numb.”

“Okay, Doctor Hale,” Stiles mumbles and lifts his head finally, straightening his back up a little.

Derek rolls his eyes as he pulls his hands back reluctantly and turns to pick up the rest of the stuff, standing and closing the bag with the old bandaging before tossing it into the trash.

Stiles groans weakly as he fixes his shirt, pulling it back over his head and tugging it down, “Thanks, man,” He says and tries to stand up from his position, but his legs are spread too far apart and he can’t. It’s embarrassing, so he doesn’t really say anything and just rests his elbow back against the toilet bowl, chin on his fist as he smiles tightly at his partner.

Derek looks at Stiles then from the sink as he rinses the cloth and sets it aside, washing his hands for hopefully the last time before turning to the boy, “Need help?”

“Yep,” Stiles grits out and sighs, wanting to thump his head against a wall or something, “This can be like, our little secret. No one needs to know about this particular moment right now.”

Derek doesn’t bother saying that no one really needs to know about **any** of it, considering most of them think he’s some heartless asshole, and he moves to Stiles, reaching down to grab him under the arms and lift him up carefully, “You’re wounded, they can’t hold it against you.”

“They can if I get stuck in stupid positions,” Stiles winces and puts his hands against the wall, trying to move back so that he can finally put his legs back together, “I mean, really, who gets stuck straddling a toilet seat. No one.”

“I’m sure **worse** has happened,” Derek says as he smirks and keeps close to Stiles as he guides the boy back out of the bathroom, “I’ve seen worse,” He admits then.

“I don’t doubt it,” Stiles says, “If I ever do actually like, die on the job… Don’t let me go out like a bitch with like, my ass in the air or something. Make sure you put a cigarette in my mouth or something and stick my middle fingers up, that’s-that’s how I want someone to find me.”

Derek narrows his eyes as he looks at Stiles skeptically and doesn’t say anything back, walking Stiles back into the living room, hands still set firmly on Stiles’s waist.

“Wanna go out like a badass,” Stiles mumbles to himself, one hand reaching up to brace himself for support on Derek’s chest, his other clasping his partner’s arm, “You hungry?”

“I’m always hungry,” Derek responds and that’s the truth, it’s difficult **not** to be hungry, especially after the full moon. He tries not to react to the boy’s hand on his chest, keeping his own in place as he watches Stiles warily.

“Could order take-out from that Thai place you like?” Stiles suggests mindlessly, “Or pizza, pizza sounds good. What do you want?”

“Pizza’s fine…” Derek pauses for a moment, unsure if he should tell Stiles to order about three or so for himself, “If you want pizza.”

“I want pizza,” Stiles confirms and nods at the couch, “Help me sit back down, yeah? And I’ll call ‘em.”

Derek nods and moves Stiles to the couch, pulling him close as he puts his hands on the boy’s lower back and sits him down carefully. It’s difficult to not be so awkward, or feel so awkward about being close to Stiles now that he’s starting to realize that his feelings for his partner aren’t as platonic as he’d like them to be.

Stiles squeezes Derek’s arm and smiles at him as he settles towards the end of the couch, “Thanks, big guy,” He says, grabbing his phone off of the cushion next to him.

He dials Domino’s number and holds it firmly to his ear, “Yeah, hi,” He says when the man on the other line picks up, “Delivery please,” He utters into the receiver, “Like five of your extra large Meat Lover’s… Yeah, I said five.” He glances at Derek, “Okay, thanks.”

Stiles hangs up and tosses the phone to the side, “It’ll be here in about thirty to forty-five minutes.”

Derek raises his brows at Stiles and he probably shouldn’t be surprised in the slightest, the boy clearly knows him and his eating habits. He removes the files from the cushion by Stiles and takes the seat for himself, handing them over as he smiles to himself, “After we eat, you’re going on a walk.”

“I just went on a walk,” Stiles narrows his brows, “To the bathroom and back to the couch.” He takes the files, opening them on his lap, even though he’s not bound to find something new.

“Outside,” Derek elaborates, “It’s not good for you to stay inside,” He says as he glances at the files, “You need to walk more.”

“I **need** to solve these cases,” Stiles thwaps the paper with his fingers, eyes skimming over his partner’s family’s case and he clears his throat, “Who’s Kate Argent?” He asks then, looking to Derek for an answer.

Derek blinks and looks back at Stiles, trying to appear as passive as possible, “Who?”

“Kate Argent,” Stiles says again and picks the file up, tilting it to show it to his partner, “There’s not much about her in here. Just says she was an acquaintance of the family, but it’s-I don’t… I find it kinda weird she left town like the day right after your entire family perished. I just wanna know who she is.”

Derek nods silently for a moment and then shrugs, “I don’t know who she is,” He lies in hopes that Stiles will just drop it there and focus on something **else** about that case.

“Argent,” Stiles mutters to himself and his eyes widen after a moment, then he looks at the older man as if a light bulb flicked on above his head, “Allison! Do you think she’s any relation?”

“Probably,” Derek says and figures it can’t hurt to tell **some** truths, “Allison lived in Beacon Hills for a couple years to finish high school.”

Stiles nods thoughtfully and scratches the side of his neck, “I should talk to her,” He says decidedly.

“You’d have better luck talking to a panther,” Derek responds, “She doesn’t play well with others.”

“Yeah and neither did you until I came along,” Stiles says, “I’m not afraid of her. I just wanna ask her a few questions.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “You’re wasting your time on her, we’re nothing alike. I kept my partner alive for eleven years, she’s had twice that many partners in just four years.”

“I dunno why you’re getting your panties in a bunch,” Stiles shakes his head, “I’m not signing up to be her new partner, I just wanna fucking talk to her. See if she’s related to this Kate Argent,” He says, tapping the paper.

“I’m not getting my… _Panties in a bunch_ ,” Derek says the phrase, glaring at Stiles, “You’re wasting your efforts on Argent, she won’t tell you anything.”

“Clearly you’ve never seen me pull my Stilinski charm on someone,” Stiles smiles and wiggles his brows, “She’ll talk, trust me.”

  
[MageStiles](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/) ϟ [Sparklinski](http://sparklinski.tumblr.com/)  



	12. Gossip or Otherwise

Stiles grabs his notepad the next morning and settles it on his legs before calling the office, asking Erica to transfer him to agent Argent’s desk. He’s kind of nervous after what Derek said, but there’s a part of him hoping that his partner was wrong about her attitude. It rings and he waits, tapping his pen against the paper.

Allison looks at her phone, raising her brows before picking it up and settling it between her ear and her shoulder, “Argent,” She says stiffly.

“Allison,” Stiles says and winces right after he says it, because it’s probably a little too personal and it’s also probably going to ruin his chances of her telling him anything, “Shit-I mean, agent Argent. This is agent Stilinski,” He says, wetting his lips, “I was wondering if I could discuss a personal matter with you, if it’s not too much to ask.”

Allison glances up at Hale’s desk and the empty one across from it before sighing and looking back at her computer, “Aren’t you recovering from a stab wound? You don’t have better things to do with your time off?”

“I like my job,” Stiles responds and shrugs to himself, “Would you mind?”

“Unlike you, I **don’t** have time off,” Allison says in a clipped voice, “I have to actually do my job right now instead of sitting around my house harassing other agents.”

“I’ll be quick about it,” Stiles tells her, not letting her cold facade get to him. After dealing with Derek for so long, agent Argent is nothing in comparison.

“Five minutes,” Allison says as she starts packing her briefcase, “That’s all I’m giving you and then I’m hanging up.”

“Awesome,” Stiles says and presses the tip of the pen to the paper, “Are you related to a _Kate Argent_?”

Allison narrows her brows at once and glances at Hale’s big ugly back again, “Yeah, she’s my aunt.”

“Are you two close?” Stiles asks, “I mean, do you keep in touch with her?”

“I haven’t heard from my aunt since I was in early elementary school,” Allison responds and shifts the phone on her shoulder to speak into it better, “Why are you asking me about her?”

“I ask because I think…” Stiles sighs and hopes Allison doesn’t get touchy, “I think she might be involved with an old case. I was just trying to figure out a way to get a hold of her.”

Allison sighs and rubs between her brows, “She’s been missing since I was a child. I’m not sure why you’re asking for her, but as far as my family knows, she’s dead.”

“Shit,” Stiles drops his head back and wants to sigh again and again, “Um, okay. Well… Do you know much about her?”

Allison shakes her head to herself and tries to think of anything, even though she’s tentative to talk about it with the baby agent of the FBI for unknown reasons, “My dad might, but I stopped thinking about her after I hit middle school. Why are you asking, again?”

“Because her name is in this case I’ve been trying to solve and she-she… It’s just-it’s suspicious,” Stiles tells Allison, “A lot of people died that were acquainted with her and she just literally skipped town the next day.”

“You’re talking about the _Hale case_ ,” Allison says at once and narrows her brows, “Why are you even touching that case? It’s been stale for twenty years.”

“I’m trying to clear a friend’s name,” Stiles says, “People talk about you, too. I’m sure you know what it’s like… Do you think you could speak with your dad about her?”

Allison’s not an idiot, she knows at once that he’s talking about Hale and she rolls her eyes, “My dad lives in Beacon Hills, I’m going there for Christmas… I could ask him then.”

“I’d really appreciate it,” Stiles smiles and wants to rub this in Derek’s face, “Thanks, Argent.”

“Whatever,” Allison says and frowns when she realizes it’s been passed five minutes, “I’ve gotta go, bye,” She says, hanging up once she’s done speaking.

Stiles sits his phone down after Allison hangs up and looks at the still blank piece of paper, but he doesn’t feel completely bereft. Allison agreed to talk to her father, so it’s really only a matter of time before she gets back to him.

* * *

Stiles feels worn down, probably more so than usual, because he’s cut back to one percocet a day and he can feel more than he’d like to. Everything is sore, even parts of his body no where near his back, but he uses what strength he has to move his bags next to the front door.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this to me right now,” He says, looking at Heather, “You know I’m all he has left, he needs me for the Holiday’s. I dunno why you don’t just go spend it with **your** family. I’m sure they miss you, babe.”

“I’m not going back to Beacon Hills, Stiles, I’ve already told you this,” Heather argues, standing there watching him in her short shorts and her loose shirt, “I don’t wanna see them. I was-I wanted us to have our **own** Christmas without them, I just-I wanted it to be just us.”

Stiles grunts as he sits the last bag down and he moves to her, smiling in order to get her to stop looking so serious as he tugs her closer by her hips, “We can have our own Christmas when I get back, okay?” He kisses her, “We’ll just keep the tree up and pretend it’s still the twenty-fifth. It’ll be fun.”

Heather narrows her eyes at him, “Why aren’t you taking your partner _with_ you to Beacon Hills, aren’t you two joined at the hip?”

“Don’t be like that,” Stiles shakes his head and looks into her eyes, “Me going back to Beacon Hills has nothing to do with him. I’m going to spend time with my dad, I don’t get to see him that often.”

“And you’re letting me celebrate it alone,” Heather responds, “Our first Christmas in a new home and I’ll be here alone without you.”

“This will literally be our first Christmas apart in like, ten years,” Stiles tries to plead his case, his fingers rucking up her baggy shirt a little to touch her skin, “Baby, I need to spend this one with my dad and I need you to be okay with that.”

Heather nods silently and glances at the sound of the doorbell, she kisses Stiles on the cheek and looks at his stuff before excusing herself and leaving the room.

Stiles sighs when she pulls away from him and he turns to limp to the door, grabbing the doorknob to swing it open and he can’t help but smile wide when he sees his dad, “Daddy-o!”

John grins wide the moment he looks at Stiles, “Hey! Where’s the hole?” He asks, glancing behind his son, as much as he wants to hug him, he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt him.

Stiles chuckles and squeezes his father, arms tight around him as he holds him close. It’s been a while since he last saw him and while he knew the distance would be a part of taking the job, he didn’t expect to miss the older man as much as he does.

“Lower back,” He mumbles, “I’ll show you as soon as we get home.”

John wraps his arms around Stiles then, as high as he can, “For a man that just got stabbed, you look pretty good,” He says and pulls back finally, “Where’s your girl?”

Stiles ruffles a hand through his own hair and looks back into the house before smiling sadly at his dad, “Dunno, guess she’s got things to do.”

“Ah,” John says, smile faltering a little, but he thinks nothing of it, “Lets get you in the car, I’ll get your things,” He motions to the door, offering his son a hand.

Stiles takes it, but he doesn’t lean on his father like he normally would with Derek. He takes the steps slowly and walks alongside the older man, “It’s good to see you,” He admits, “Seriously good to see you.”

John chuckles and nods in agreement, “It’s good to see you too, you look good - you really do. How’s the FBI been so far? Solved any big cases?”

“I’m working on some right now, actually,” Stiles tells him, “Haven’t really solved anything big yet, though.”

“Give it time,” John says as he walks slowly by Stiles, “How’s your partner? You do have a partner at this point, right?”

“Yeah, he’s great,” Stiles’s face lights up a little, “He’s probably the reason I look so good. He won’t let me sit around on my ass.”

“Sounds like a good man,” John nods and opens the passenger’s side door, “Was he there when you got attacked, too? Or did it happen off the clock?”

“It was off the clock,” Stiles looks at his dad, resting his other hand on top of the cruiser, “But yeah, he was there. It was pretty much right after having a few beers with him and Scott.”

John narrows his brows, as much as he feels like they should’ve talked about it at length before, they don’t really have much time to talk anymore, “We’ll talk when I get back, let me go get your things first,” He says as he motions for Stiles to get into the car, offering his hand again.

Stiles contorts his grimace into an almost constipated look as he lowers down to the seat, because he doesn’t want his dad thinking he’s in a lot of pain. He doesn’t want the older man pestering over him, he just wants to spend some time together and catch up for once.

John closes the door behind his son, walking back to the house and taking Stiles’s things, glancing around and frowning when he still doesn’t see Heather so he closes the door behind himself and walks to the car once more, putting everything in the trunk and moving to the driver’s side before sliding in.

“Shame she didn’t wanna come along,” He says, narrowing his brows, “Are you two okay?”

“I dunno,” Stiles says honestly, not looking at his father because he doesn’t want to see any sympathy on his face, “I asked her to come with me, she just didn’t want to. I-I’m not sure what’s been up with her lately, but… Things aren’t like they used to be.”

John stares at his son, “It happens sometimes,” He says thoughtfully and starts the car, “So tell me about the attack, did they catch the guy?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Stiles tries not to snort, “My partner kinda blew his head off before he could get away.”

John grins slowly and chuckles, “I guess I **could** say that,” He says in amusement and he glances at his son, “I think I need to meet this guy.”

“He’s not really uh… He’s not really a people person,” Stiles tries to explain, “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good man, but he doesn’t really get along with anyone. He and Heather started arguing the first time they met, it was insane.”

“Heather isn’t that easy to get along with,” John says dismissively, “But, from the sound of it, this guy-seems like a good partner to have; someone to have your back… Literally.”

“Yeah,” Stiles nods, “I’d probably be dead right now if it weren’t for him. I dunno why, but I think you’d like him.”

John frowns then, “I think I’d like him too,” He says and narrows his brows, “Was he the one with you after you got stabbed? That wasn’t Scott?”

“Uh, yeah, it was him,” Stiles mumbles, “Scott skipped out early to get home to Lydia and Heidi. It was just me and agent Hale.”

“Agent Hale…” John says the name as he drives, “He wouldn’t be _Derek Hale_ , would he?”

“Yeah, how did you know that? I’ve never told you his first name,” Stiles looks at his dad curiously then.

“I handled the _Hale Fire_ case personally in the beginning, before the FBI picked it up,” John admits, shaking his head, “There’s no way I could forget that kid and his older sister. You know, she was murdered about six years afterwards, when she came back. I always wondered what had happened to her brother.”

“Huh,” Stiles says thoughtfully, because Derek’s never mentioned an older sister who was murdered, “Yeah, he’s FBI now, he’s a good agent.”

John nods, “He was a pretty smart kid, straight A’s in school, played basketball - I’m not surprised he joined the FBI, probably to try and solve his family’s case. I never did find out who killed his sister, though - but there were… Too many murders that year, it was difficult focusing on just one.”

“The Hale case is actually one of the ones I’m currently working on,” Stiles says, “And I-I think I might… I think I might have a suspect, but nobody knows where she is…”

John raises a brow in surprise, “You’re trying to solve his case for him?” He doesn’t wait for Stiles to answer, “Good luck, that’s the **weirdest** case I’ve ever had to deal with, outside of his sister’s.”

“I just don’t like what people say about him, you know?” Stiles shrugs, “People around the office accuse him of killing his family and-while I can kinda see why they’d think it, with the way he acts and how withdrawn he is… I know he’s innocent. He shouldn’t be ostracized for something he didn’t do.”

“I ruled him out years ago,” John says, shaking his head, “He was at school when it happened. Others just ruled it out as electrical, but a lot of things about it didn’t sit right with me. He was devastated when I talked to him, couldn’t get much out of him, but that’s tough with kids. I feel bad having to ask them about those kinds of things.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Stiles turns a little in his seat and furrows his brows, “In the file, it mentions something about a _Kate Argent_ and I’m not even really sure why her name was mentioned… Do you know anything about her relation to the Hale family?”

“She was Chris’s sister,” John responds, trying to think back the best he can, “Went missing after the fire but… Well, most of what we heard were rumors, I tried not to believe what people were saying. You know, in small towns people always talk about things they don’t know about.”

“What did they say?” Stiles asks curiously, wanting to know more.

“Derek Hale was fifteen years old,” John explains and then gives Stiles a suggestive look, “A lot of people thought that Kate was _sleeping_ with him.”

“That’s weird,” Stiles says, more to himself than anything, because Derek vehemently denied even knowing Kate, “Did you question him about it?”

“He wouldn’t say anything, just told me he didn’t know her,” John shrugs, “She was just a few years younger than me, so I figured people were just talking to hear themselves talk. But a lot of them mentioned seeing Derek and Kate together.”

Stiles doesn’t even realize he’s frowning until he catches a glimpse of himself in the rear-view mirror, so he tries to shrug it off and decides he’s going to confront Derek about it later, once he’s settled in at his dad’s, “Who knows what’s true and what’s not, just wish I could actually get a trace on her.”

“She’s been missing for over twenty years, Stiles,” John says and chuckles, “It’s disappointing to see a case go cold, but the only people that know about that night are Derek - if he ever did - and Kate. And, well, his uncle, probably - but he’s been missing for just as long.”

“His uncle?” Stiles asks in confusion, “What uncle? Hale hasn’t ever said anything about an uncle and he’s not in the file,” He says, “I’ve pretty much got the case memorized and there’s nothing in it regarding a missing uncle.”

John tilts his head in confusion, “He’s mentioned in our file back at the station. He was the only survivor of the fire, he was badly burned and comatose for the better part of six years before he vanished without a trace. Just… Got up and left one day. We always figured Derek came for him or something.”

“Dad,” Stiles says, suddenly anxious, “I’m telling you, there is literally nothing about this guy in the case file I have… Do you think you could get your hands on the file you have for me?”

“I have a copy at the house,” John admits shamelessly, his son knows how bad he is about these kinds of things, “I’ve looked it over a few times since, just to… Make sure I haven’t missed anything.”

“We can compare when we get home,” Stiles suggests, “That’s so weird… What was Derek’s uncle’s name?”

“Peter Hale,” John says at once, “His vehicle was also on scene. I don’t see why there wouldn’t be anything about him in your file, all his medical records and stuff, considering he was the only one alive…”

Stiles can’t really pinpoint why the name doesn’t sit right on his tongue, but he doesn’t try to over-analyze it just yet, “I know, it doesn’t make any sense.”

John nods in agreement, “He disappeared just after Laura’s body was found in the woods outside the Hale house.”

“Yeah, that’s not suspicious at all,” Stiles mumbles lowly and looks pointedly at his father.

John shrugs, “There were about five other unsolved murders that year, it got busy at work-I talked to you about it a few times, you don’t remember? It was like every time we turned around, there was another body.”

“Shit, yeah, I remember now,” Stiles says, scratching the side of his head, “Were there any patterns between the murders? How far apart were they and how long after Derek’s sister did they start?”

“No patterns, not really,” John says as he tries to remember them, “One was on school property, you and Scott saw that, the man had been torn to shreds - we just concluded that it was a rabid animal, a mountain lion or something. One man was killed in a video store. A couple other guys were attacked and burned alive, it was just… _Random_. All after Laura’s bottom half was found off the road by the preserve.”

“Did Derek know his uncle was still alive?” Stiles asks, still kind of peeved his partner never mentioned him.

“His name was on the register at the nursing home,” John shrugs, “He came as often as possible, I have it stored away with the rest of the cases. Melissa even talked to him a few times, it wasn’t a secret that he came to see his uncle.”

“I just don’t understand why he never mentions him,” Stiles says and shakes his head, inexplicably anxious to call his partner to talk to him about it.

John shakes his head, “I couldn’t tell you, son. All I can say is that I can’t see why he’d talk about it at all. Has he ever talked to you about his sisters?”

“Not the one that was murdered, no, but he-” Stiles sighs, “He’s talked about his family before, just not them.”

“He probably just doesn’t wanna talk about it, Stiles, don’t take it personal,” John says as he glances at his son, “You know how it is, you can relate to it, you can’t see why he’d avoid it?”

“No, I can, I totally can,” Stiles says, “But he knows about mom… I just thought we were friends by now, thought he knew he could talk to me.”

John chuckles and shakes his head, “You hardly know the guy, son; that stuff is personal. And I thought you said he wasn’t a _people_ person.”

Stiles frowns when his father says he hardly knows Derek, but he supposes it’s kind of true, “He’s not a people person,” He says, “He’s more of a one or two people person,” He says vaguely.

“I’d like to meet him properly,” John says and smiles at Stiles, “He saved your life, he took out the guy that stabbed you. Sounds like a good person, and you seem to like him.”

“Yeah, I do,” Stiles nods and smiles at the imagery of Derek meeting his father, “I’ll be sure to tell him.”

“So tell me about the guy,” John responds a little louder, “Enough about his family and the cases, I’d like to know what he’s like now.”

“He’s um… He’s like seven feet tall, and I’m not exaggerating by much,” Stiles snorts, “He was kinda mean when I was first partnered with him, didn’t wanna be stuck with a kid, but you know me… I tend to get under people’s skin.

"After I’ve had more of a chance to get to know him, though… I know he’s a good man and I know he’s innocent, he’s a damn good partner. I mean, the guy literally used the shirt off of his back to try and stop my bleeding. He just tends to get the short end of the stick all the time.”

John’s a little surprised with how his son talks about the guy, it’s nice to see Stiles making more friends outside of Scott, though, “So it didn’t really stop after he lost his entire family?”

“No,” Stiles shakes his head, “His last partner died not too long ago… I told you about how everyone blames him for his family? Well, they blame him for Boyd’s death, too.”

“His last partner died?” John asks in disbelief, “You’re telling me that a man that was able to save your life lost his last partner… To _what_?”

“Bullet wound to the chest,” Stiles says softly, glancing over at his dad, “Pretty sure he’s still grieving over the guy. Evidently Boyd was like, Hale’s only friend.”

John frowns, “If I didn’t know beyond a doubt that he wasn’t the one that caused the Hale fire, I'd have a difficult time thinking it **wasn’t** him,” He shakes his head, “And now _you’ve_ been stabbed as well. I’m starting to think the target isn’t all the dead people around him...”

“It’s funny you say that…” Stiles mutters, “I can’t help but feel like he’s said something like ‘murdered by association’ before, so maybe you’re right. I just dunno who’d have it out for the guy so bad.”

“Or _why_ ,” John muses aloud, “What kind of person targets a fifteen year old boy?”

Stiles shakes his head and shrugs, “That’s the million dollar question.”

* * *

Stiles meanders around his old room slowly and recalls all of the fond memories he has of it, touching a wooden frame holding a picture of him and his mother before she passed, her arms tight around him and both of their heads thrown back in laughter. He misses her, misses this place, and it just feels _right_ being back - even though he knows it’s only temporary.

He moves to his old bed then and sits down slowly, looking at his bags of clothes before pulling his phone out of his pocket. His dad said dinner wouldn’t be ready for about half an hour, so he has enough time to talk to Derek.

At first, he considers just texting him about everything, but part of him wants to hear his partner’s voice - and he convinces himself that it’s because he wants to be able to hear if the other man’s voice inflects any. So he hits the call button instead and leans over while it’s ringing, pulling his cases out of his bag.

Derek quickly answers his phone before any of the people at the gym start complaining and he walks to the back as he puts it to his ear, “Hale.”

“One of these days you’re going to humor me and answer your phone by saying ‘Hale-o’,” Stiles smiles and sits the files on his bed.

“No I’m not,” Derek responds as he lets out a huff of breath, leaning back against the far wall as he pants, “What do you want, Stilinski?”

“Why do I have to want something?” Stiles asks and slides Boyd’s case under his pillow, leaving his copy of the Hale case out so he can show it to his father when he’s done, “I was gonna call you before I left town, but I had to get my shit together before my dad showed up.”

Derek rolls his eyes, because he’s sure Stiles is actually calling for a **reason** , “How’s your back?”

“It fucking hurts,” Stiles says, “Especially since I started laying off the percocet, which is your fault.”

“It’s better for you,” Derek responds as he lifts his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow, “Make sure your father cleans it and changes the dressing.”

“I know,” Stiles snorts and his smile falters, “Hey, um… Why didn’t you tell me about your older sister and your uncle?”

Derek frowns at the question and narrows his brows as he moves into an even more secluded area of the gym, “Am I supposed to tell you about every single member of my family and every person I’ve ever met?”

Stiles’s brows furrow and he shakes his head to himself, “No, I guess not…” He says lowly, “Forget about it. I’ll be back in about a week and a half.”

Derek glances around tentatively, feeling guilty for being short with Stiles and, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, it’s nice hearing the boy’s voice.

“Wait, Stilinski,” He says before he can stop himself, “Why are you asking about them?”

“Why do I ask about **anything**? It’s just general curiosity,” Stiles says, “And… It’s just all kinda weird, I suppose.”

“What do you wanna know about them?” Derek asks, narrowing his brows.

“I dunno, like, why Laura came back to Beacon Hills without you,” Stiles starts, “Or like, you know, why there’s absolutely nothing in the Hale file about your uncle Peter.”

Derek sighs as he finally catches his breath and wets his lips as he walks outside, “I was already working on becoming a federal agent when she came back to Beacon Hills, she didn’t want to wait anymore, I guess.”

They’d had a pretty bad fight about it, both of them probably said things they didn’t mean but that had kind of been the last of it, “I came back after she was killed, for the funeral, and when I went to check on my uncle, he was gone as well.

"I just assumed that whoever killed my family came back to finish the job. From what I know, it wasn’t long after that that the file at the bureau was updated and my uncle was removed from it entirely.”

“And you don’t find that suspicious in the slightest?” Stiles grimaces slightly, “Your sister dies and your uncle randomly disappears. And not just literally, either. I mean, completely off of the file… Why would someone take him off of it, who would alter the files like that?”

“Of course I find it suspicious, you idiot,” Derek responds, rolling his eyes, “The **entire** fire is suspicious, I didn’t just assume that it was a random coincidence. The only person that **can** alter files like that is _every single person that’s in reach of it_. It isn’t difficult to alter a file, especially a stale file brought in from a small town that no one gave a fuck about.”

“ _Someone_ gave a fuck,” Stiles utters under his breath and sighs, “And you know, it’s funny the things you hear when you live in a small town like Beacon Hills…”

Derek narrows his brows, “How do you mean?”

“Like how… People say that you and _Kate Argent_ were an item back then,” Stiles says tentatively, “You um… You didn’t lie to me… _Did you_?”

“People say a lot of things about a lot of people, Stilinski,” Derek says sternly, “The things they say about me in the FBI, that’s not the first time I’ve heard illegitimate rumors being spread around. Maybe you should stop fucking listening to people and being a pawn.”

“It was just a question, Hale, why are you getting so defensive?” Stiles asks, his voice a little more harsh because of the way his partner’s acting.

Derek narrows his eyes, “Maybe it’s because every time you hear something about me, you accuse me. It gets old fast, Stilinski.”

“I wasn’t fucking accusing you of anything, I very distinctly remember **asking** you,” Stiles raises his voice, “I trust you, Hale. I’m on your fucking side, okay? I just wanna make sure my partner isn’t lying to me.”

Derek stills at the boy’s words, his mouth popping open and he feels stunted for a moment, “Stilinski...” He shakes his head as he closes his eyes and sighs.

On one side, he wants to tell Stiles _everything_ , but he knew Boyd for eleven years and never told him a thing, and the reason why isn’t going to change just because he’s falling in love with someone.

_It’s a necessary lie._

“People talk.”

“Okay,” Stiles breathes out and lowers his head, leaning forward to rest his elbow on his knee, “I believe you,” He says then, “Sorry for bringing it up.”

“You’re investigating the case, it’s your job to bring it up,” Derek says dismissively, trying not to feel so guilty about lying to Stiles.

“Right,” Stiles nods to himself and stands up suddenly, forgetting momentarily about his back and he grunts a little, “I’ll let you go, I’ve got shit to do.”

“Yeah, bye,” Derek says awkwardly and ends the call, glancing around the parking lot before walking back into the gym.

Stiles stares at the phone after Derek hangs up and decides to turn it off, tossing it to his bed before going downstairs.

He’s here to spend time with his dad, to enjoy Christmas with the one living family member he has left and he doesn’t want anything interrupting that - including the inexplicable temptation to call his partner back.

  
[MageStiles](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/) ϟ [Sparklinski](http://sparklinski.tumblr.com/)  



	13. The Hale House

There’s a few days left before Christmas, so Stiles takes the opportunity while his dad’s at the station to go find him a present. The only downside is that he actually has to take a taxi, which in turn just kind of makes him miss his jeep already. It’s good, though, completely worth it to be able to give back to the man who pretty much single-handedly raised him.

He’s not really watching where he’s going - which is probably his first mistake, especially trying to brave the Holiday crowd - and he ends up walking straight into someone, which in turn wreaks fucking havoc on his back, “Fuck!”

“Would you watch where you’re-oh,” Allison stills and reaches out for Stiles as she looks at him, her eyes widening as she realizes she just ran into a mortally wounded agent, “Stilinski,” She says as she glances around, “Dad, this is that agent that asked about Kate.”

Chris turns from the display behind Allison and looks at Stiles as well, “What a coincidence,” He says and offers his hand, “I’m Chris Argent.”

Stiles winces and reaches around behind himself with one hand, pressing his palm against his lower back as he reaches out with his other hand, grasping the older man’s and shaking it, “Nice to meet you,” He says, “Forgot how small Beacon Hills actually is.”

Chris smiles and nods as he takes Stiles’s hand, “Especially this time of year.”

Allison looks at Stiles in concern, “Did you pull a couple stitches or something? I’m sorry, I wasn’t really looking where I was going.”

“Neither was I,” Stiles admits, letting Allison’s father’s hand go and smiling at her, “It’s good, I’m fine, just still a little sore is all.” He looks between the two of them, “Last minute Christmas shopping?”

“Kind of,” Allison says and lifts the box of Christmas tree bulbs, “Mom broke a few when she sat on them this morning.”

“The tree’s in repair,” Chris speaks up over the people passing them, “Allison broke it.”

“I didn’t break it,” Allison says in defense, turning back to glare at her dad, “I was being careful.”

Stiles smiles wider as he watches their back and forth, “Eh, Christmas trees are fickle things, anyway,” He says, defending Allison blindly.

“Right?” Allison agrees as she looks back at Stiles, “Were **you** last minute Christmas shopping for your dad?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles nods, “What do you get the town sheriff who doesn’t want for anything?” He asks rhetorically, wincing as he glances around.

Allison considers it for a moment, “Manila folders?” She smiles wider, “Another file box?”

“Chocolate,” Chris says slowly and glances around, “Or beer.”

“Chocolate, possibly,” Stiles smiles, “Beer, not so much. I’ll probably just get him a new filing cabinet, God knows he could use another.”

He looks at Allison then, “Thanks for the idea.”

“You could get him some of these, too,” Allison says as she turns and takes the box of peppermint bark in her dad’s hand, giving it to Stiles, “He doesn’t need any more,” She shakes her head and glances back at Chris, “He has like _five_ boxes at home.”

“In that case,” Stiles says, taking the candy and reaching to put it in his cart, “I get it, I’m all the time trying to get my dad to eat healthier.”

He snorts and looks at Chris, “We children don’t do it because we hate you, we do it because we love you. Not saying that I love you,” He explains, “You know, it’s just in the figurative sense.”

Chris chuckles and nods, “I got that.”

Allison giggles and moves out of a woman’s way, leaning closer to Stiles, “Do you wanna talk later about Kate and stuff? This probably isn’t the best time for _either_ of us.”

“Definitely,” Stiles nods and looks around, starting to pull his phone from his pocket as he realizes he left it at home, “Crap, I didn’t bring my phone with me. Are you good at remembering numbers? Because I can just give you mine… Or you can come over later, I’m pretty sure everyone in town knows where the sheriff lives.”

“Yeah, I can come over later, that’s fine,” Allison says as she looks at her dad, “That’s okay, right?”

Chris nods and shrugs, “Yeah, he’s your friend, right?”

Allison lifts a brow at the comment but nods and pats Stiles’s shoulder, “I’ll see you later, Stiles,” She says as she walks passed him and then stops, “Wait, were you gonna pick up that file box?”

“Probably,” Stiles says, “You think I can bribe a taxi driver with peppermint bark to carry it in the house for me?” He asks and smirks.

“Dad could do it,” Allison says before even asking him and she turns to Chris, “You don’t wanna make him pick that thing up in **this** place and take it home on his own, do you?”

Chris smiles knowingly at the look on her face, “Come on, Stilinski, we’ll give you a lift.”

* * *

“I have bad news and good news,” Allison says the moment Stiles opens the door, she offers a fruitcake to him and smiles sadly, “Which do you want first?”

“Hit me with the bad,” Stiles says and takes the fruitcake, then moves aside to let her into the house.

Allison walks inside, running her hands over the arms of her coat as she passes Stiles, “Well, I asked my dad about Kate leaving and he wouldn’t talk about it with me. I tried to ask my grandfather and he wouldn’t say anything either."

"The good news is… I made you fruitcake,” She shrugs, “Sorry I couldn’t find out more.”

Stiles would be lying if he said he wasn’t the slightest bit disappointed, but not getting a lead isn’t really the end of the world, “It’s okay,” He tells her and nods towards the kitchen, gesturing for her to follow, “I’m stunned you even bothered to help me at all, you kinda have a rep around the office almost as bad as Hale’s.”

“It’s not because I hate people,” Allison says as she follows, “I just work better alone. I know that sounds the same, but it’s not,” She puts her hands in her coat pockets, “I did manage to learn something… Really weird, though.”

Stiles sits the fruitcake down on the counter and unwraps it, looking up at her curiously, “Yeah? What’s that?”

“Well, after they wouldn’t tell me about Kate, I asked them if they knew anything about the Hale fire,” Allison responds as she glances around the kitchen, “They still wouldn’t say much, but I could tell they were upset, and then dad mentioned that there was ‘bad blood’ between my family and Hale’s.”

“Bad blood,” Stiles repeats and cuts him a piece of the fruitcake, pointing to it with a knife, “You want some?”

Allison shakes her head, “I’m good, I made twelve of them this morning,” She says and smiles, “But, after dad said that and I asked him if it was because of Kate, he nodded,” She gives Stiles a significant look, “I’m-I couldn’t get anything else out of them after that, but make of _that_ what you will.”

Stiles nods appreciatively and tries not to groan when he takes a bite of the dessert, “Did he happen to mention whether or not it was also because of agent Hale?” He asks, feeling guilty for even bringing it up, because he’d told the other man he trusted him.

“He didn’t say, he just got really weird and serious and wouldn’t talk anymore,” Allison says, obviously annoyed, “I was thinking of going to the Hale house to have a look around, see if I could find anything that might tell me why there’d be some ‘bad blood’ between them. Did you wanna come along?

"I know you’ve got that whole-” She looks at him, “You were stabbed, it’s kind of a long walk.”

Stiles makes a point to look her over innocently enough, then grins at her, “You look plenty strong enough, if I get tired you can just piggy back me,” He says, chuckling as he finishes off his piece of the fruitcake.

“I **was** gonna break in through the front gate,” Allison admits, “But it’s locked up and overgrown, the place hasn’t been touched in over twenty years from what I could see. I figured the best way was through the entrance of the preserve. Your dad won’t mind you vanishing for a few hours?”

“No,” Stiles shakes his head and covers the food back up, “He’s held up at the station. I should probably grab the file before we go, just to have it handy.”

“And your holster, if you brought it up here,” Allison grins, patting her own, “Just in case.”

“Alright,” Stiles dusts his hands off and moves passed her, “Just give me like an hour to get up the steps and back down, then I’ll be ready to go,” He jokes.

Allison’s eyes widen as she looks at the stairs, “Uh, do you want me to get what you need?”

“It won’t really take me an hour,” Stiles looks back at her, chuckling again, “It’s fine, but thank you,” He says and starts up the steps, gripping the railing firmly as he goes.

He’s not fast, obviously, but he’s not slow, either - it just takes him longer than it normally would. But once he reaches the landing, he puts his holster on and grabs the file, sighing to himself before walking back down the steps, trying not to wince with each one.

Allison stands at the foot of the stairs as she waits, smiling slightly once Stiles gets back down and she moves to the door, opening it for him, “You handle a knife wound to the back pretty well,” She observes and smirks, “I’ve been shot before, but I haven’t really been stabbed yet.”

“It fucking sucks,” Stiles says, looking at Allison and shaking his head as he walks out the front door, “Zero out of ten, would not recommend.”

“I can imagine,” Allison responds, walking out and closing the door behind her, “I had a partner a couple years ago that was stabbed on the field, they weren’t **nearly** as lucky as you are.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Stiles says and limps to the big black SUV, “Pretty sure I would’ve been dead if it weren’t for Hale.”

“He’s saved pretty much every agent in our office at one point or another,” Allison informs Stiles as she opens the passenger’s side door, “Stopped me from taking two bullets in the back about five or six months ago.”

“Yeah,” Stiles mutters and kind of feels like he’s constantly bragging on the guy, “He’s not really as bad as people make him out to be, you know? Kinda like you… I’m pretty sure he was concerned for my well being when I told him I was gonna talk to you.”

Allison chuckles, “With reason, people don’t normally talk to me. I was surprised you dared to, I don’t mind, though. It’s been a while since I’ve worked with another agent on… Anything, really.”

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” Stiles asks and smiles, finally sliding slowly into the vehicle, “I’m thinking you probably should’ve been as mean and ruthless as people think you are, though. Because now that I know how nice you actually are, you’re probably gonna get sick of me. Ask Hale, same story different person.”

“Just don’t do it in front of others,” Allison says seriously, “They don’t need to know, and I don’t wanna have to break your nose in order to look right again,” She smiles and closes the door behind Stiles, walking to the driver’s side as she pulls her keys back out of her pocket and climbs in quickly, “We’re idiots going out in the middle of the forest today, it’s **cold**.”

“Shouldn’t take too long to look the place over,” Stiles reassures, “I mean, I’ve never actually been there but I’ve seen pictures… There’s not much left.”

“The upstairs on the right side isn’t that bad from what I could see from the front gate,” Allison says as she pulls out of the driveway, “Most of the damage was from the left side basement.”

She narrows her brows and shakes her head, “I can’t believe my aunt’s a suspect in the case, I don’t remember her well but she was pretty nice. I’ve looked it over before, I didn’t look **close** but I knew she was on the suspect list.”

“It’s always the nice ones you gotta look out for,” Stiles says, “I just find it odd that she’s the only one on the list who disappeared after the fire, you know?”

“I wonder if she’s dead,” Allison says before she can stop herself and lifts her brows, “I mean, Derek Hale’s **entire** family couldn’t have all been in the basement of that house when it went up. No one’s family is that close, it’s not like it was a Holiday or something.

"Say she did do it, what if one of them found out about it? I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sane, and if that was my family… I’d want some revenge.”

“You wanna know something weird?” Stiles asks and looks at her, “Hale’s uncle… He was like, one of the only one’s who survived the fire and about six years afterwards, he just up and vanished.”

“He had an uncle?” Allison pauses for a moment, “Wait-there weren’t any survivors, I’ve read the file over, I’m pretty sure I didn’t skip over that.”

“You didn’t skip over anything, trust me,” Stiles gives her a pointed look, “This is where it gets even more bizarre, the file we have at the bureau? It’s been altered.

"I talked to my dad about it and he has a copy from where he handled the case personally when it happened. Someone altered them to make it look like his uncle never even existed. It’s fucked up.”

Allison narrows her brows, “So… He’s a suspect as well?” She shakes her head, “Why would his name disappear like that from an official document? It’s not like he was on the list of suspects, he was a victim.”

“I have no clue,” Stiles shakes his head, “But I also find it a little fucked up that he disappeared right around the time Hale’s older sister was murdered.”

“I think I remember hearing about that,” Allison mutters softly to herself, “Yeah, I remember people saying that Hale was a suspect because when Laura came back to Beacon Hills, he took two days off at the **same** time.

"He was in college then, but he immediately became a suspect. It wasn’t followed up though, because he had the days marked months in advance like all of his other days off. And then he had to take the emergency leave because of her death and everything.

"You’re saying that his uncle disappeared then, too?”

“Right around the same time Laura was killed, yeah,” Stiles nods in response.

“Three Hale’s all vanishing at the same time,” Allison points out, “In one way or another. Derek takes two days off, his sister’s murdered, and his uncle vanishes completely. Six years after the fire, that seems strange for them to line up like that.”

“Everything about the case is strange,” Stiles tells her, watching out the window as she drives.

Allison nods in agreement, “What was he like during the six years? Was he living around Beacon Hills?”

“He was comatose in a nursing home,” Stiles says, not really expecting Allison to believe him - he wouldn’t believe himself.

Allison parks at the preserve and turns to look at Stiles, “So someone comes to Beacon Hills after six years, just happens to be around the same time Laura comes back, they kill her and… What? Kidnap her uncle?” She shakes her head, “If they killed Laura, why not just killed her vegetable uncle and be done with it? It doesn’t make sense to take him.”

“Like I said,” Stiles shrugs, “Everything about the case is strange,” He says again and opens the door, climbing out slowly as not to hurt himself.

“Sounds like an X-file to me,” Allison says and climbs out of her side as well, locking up beside them and joining Stiles, “I know a lot of people think it’s Hale, but something doesn’t fit right: his uncle’s disappearance.

"Hale would be prime suspect number one if his uncle had also been murdered. Or maybe he is, maybe him and Kate only look like they’ve vanished because they’re both dead,” She looks at Stiles quickly, “Not that I’m accusing your partner, I just… I dunno, his name vanishing from the file is strange. No one else was changed… Were they? Did you compare the files?”

“I haven’t had a chance to yet,” Stiles closes the door, “So far, the only difference I know of is Hale’s uncle being in one file, but not the other.”

Allison frowns, “I’d say it was him, if I didn’t know he was comatose for six years,” She looks ahead as she locks the vehicle and starts off with Stiles, keeping a slow pace for him, “What was his name?”

“Peter Hale,” Stiles says the name and it kind of makes him feel uneasy, exactly the same way he felt when he first learned the name.

“Has a ring to it, doesn’t it?” Allison responds, wetting her lips and then reaching into her pocket for her chapstick, “Peter Hale, like Peter Rabbit, or Peter Pan.”

“I dunno, it kinda gives me the heebie jeebies,” Stiles admits, “Like when I think of the name, it just… It’s like I’ve heard it before… Or seen it before, you know?”

“It does sound familiar,” Allison says, “I think I’ve heard it before from my dad or someone, he must’ve gotten picked on horribly in school, though. No one named ‘Peter’ has it easy.”

Stiles walks slowly next to Allison and glances at her quickly, “Hey, you think you can bring the name up to your dad, see if it means anything to him?”

Allison nods, “It’s worth a try, just… Not around the rest of the family. My **mom** was so… Not like herself, when I started asking questions.”

“Your dad must’ve not been kidding when he said there was bad blood,” Stiles snorts and winces as he steps over a log.

“He didn’t seem as bad as the rest of them,” Allison says pensively, “My dad’s pretty calm about most things though. He just got serious and quiet, I don’t like it. It makes me think that you might be right. Maybe the way they’re acting is because they know she did it… Maybe that’s the bad blood.”

“You know what? I hope I’m right, too,” Stiles says, “Not that I’m like, trying to piss you off by trying to convict a family member… But it would be nice to just be done with it, I can’t imagine how exhausted Hale is with it, trying to figure it out for twenty years.”

“I don’t care either way, I didn’t know her well,” Allison admits and shrugs, “It’s nice of you to help him. He’s always been pretty alone, but you two seem really close.”

“He doesn’t make it easy to get close to him,” Stiles admits, “I think that’s why he catches so much shit at work, because he’s blunt and he can be mean sometimes. He just doesn’t know how to let his guard down, not that I blame him after what he’s been through.”

Allison frowns and nods, “Must be hard to let anyone in when everyone around you dies,” She watches Stiles then, smiling slightly, “He’s been different since he started working with you, though. Even with Boyd he was still… Blunt. I can’t even stand the guy, but he’s a bit more bearable with you around him. Since you’ve been off work he’s just been stoic and short with everyone.”

“I think he’s probably just paranoid that if he doesn’t help me change my bandages at the right time that I’ll get some kind of infection and croak,” Stiles says and bites at his thumb nail, trying not to smile, “Don’t tell him I told you that, he has a certain image to uphold. I’m sure you can understand.”

“He changes your bandages?” Allison asks, raising a brow.

“Normally, yeah,” Stiles nods, “It’s just that Heather’s not really home that often, part time job and book club and whatnot. So he helps out, he’s a lot more nurturing than you’d suspect.”

Allison all but giggles at the thought and shakes her head, “It sounds weird, but it’s actually not surprising at all. It’s always the big terrifying guys that you see… Playing with kittens, and holding babies or something. It’s not really surprising that he’s soft on you.”

Stiles swallows at Allison’s phrasing and quirks a brow, “He’d be soft on anyone who persevered long enough to try and get through to him, it’s not just me.”

“It’s just you,” Allison says, “The guy doesn’t play well with others at **all** , I’ve seen him slam Whittemore into walls before, and he’s gotten into fights with agents in the past.”

“It’s not just me,” Stiles insists, shaking his head vehemently, “He likes Scott, too. I actually convinced the guy to come out drinking with me and McCall. Granted it was the same night I got stabbed, but still.”

Allison nods and shakes her head, “Go figure the night he goes out to spend some time outside of the gym and his house, you end up getting hurt, must make the guy-” She cuts off as something suddenly wraps around her ankle and she’s hoisted up into the air, all but shrieking when it happens.

“Oh my **God**!” Stiles shouts, damn near jumping out of his skin, but he wills himself to stand still as he looks up at Allison, immediately covering his eyes because her shirt rode up, “I just saw your tits!” He yells, clutching his hands over his face, “Oh my God!”

“Shut up,” Allison says in annoyance as she sways back and forth, her coat falling to the ground before she can stop it, “They’re just _breasts_ , stop acting like a child and help me figure out how to get **down** before the blood rushes to my skull.”

“I’m not acting like a child,” Stiles defends himself and very carefully hobbles around, looking for the end of the trap, “I’m acting like a man who’s seen the same pair of breasts for the passed ten years. Cut me some slack.”

He notices a black cord against the side of a tree, just next to where Allison’s suspended, “Okay, I think I found it, but you’re gonna need to brace yourself.”

Allison sighs, “Go ahead,” She says, she’s had enough practice for such a situation, “I’m ready whenever.”

Stiles pulls his gun from his holster and flips the safety off, aiming at the cord and grimacing a little when he pulls the trigger.

Allison drops and manages to swing her legs under her, landing easily and blinking as her ears ring. She reaches down to take the rope off her ankle and grab her coat, “Okay, so… An abandoned property with a questionable case has booby traps around it?”

She looks at Stiles, “Who the Hell were Hale’s family? Drug lords?”

Stiles shakes his head and snickers a little at that, muttering ‘booby’ under his breath as he moves to her, “You okay?”

Allison narrows her eyes as she finally pushes her shirt down completely and puts back on her coat, “Yeah, a little jarred, and increasingly suspicious of _Peter Hale_ , but other than that, I’m fine.”

She looks back around to the house, overgrown and miserable looking, but thankfully it’s broad daylight because it’d look terrifying if it were night time, “Watch where you step, if **you** go up, it’s gonna be about fifty times worse.”

“If I go up, you’re probably gonna have to call the fire department to get me down,” Stiles chuckles and watches his feet, “Dad would kill me if he knew I was out here.”

“You and me both,” Allison says as she walks with Stiles up to the house and she looks around the front of it, “Do we wanna go in first, or check over the outside?”

“Probably the outside,” Stiles tells her, slowly making his way around to the side of the house as he looks the unstable looking structure over, “Get a gauge for how sturdy it is, make sure it won’t fall in on us if we step foot inside.”

Allison nods in agreement, following Stiles and glancing over the house as they reach the left side. She looks down at the barred window of the basement and swallows sickly. It has vines crawling in and out of every space possible, but it’s not difficult imagining them to be people’s _arms._

“Is the property still owned by Hale, or by the state?” She asks curiously.

“I dunno,” Stiles answers honestly and frowns at the black char marks winding up and down the side of the house, “But if the state owned it, wouldn’t they have torn it down by now?”

“Maybe,” Allison shrugs, “It’s a small town, though, and with the case involved, it’s difficult to say - you should ask your partner, chances are he knows.”

“Yeah,” Stiles nods and narrows his brows as they make their way around the house, “Yeah, I will. I’ll send him a text or something when I get back in.”

Allison glances around the trees, idly wondering if she just _happened_ to bump into the only trap on the property, or if there might be more dangerous ones, “With it this overgrown, I don’t see us finding anything without having to really dig. The basement looks like roots have taken over inside, there’s no telling what the front room looks like now.”

“Hard to tell,” Stiles says distractedly, “We just need to be careful, I don’t really see Hale being too happy with me if I end up getting hurt anywhere around here.”

Allison smiles at the comment and lifts her brows, “And you say it’s not ‘just you’.”

“I’m his partner,” Stiles says, trying to justify it, “He’s already lost one, he’s worried about losing another. It’s understandable.”

“It’s not ‘understandable’, it’s ‘different’,” Allison responds as she looks over the Hale house, “He’s different with you, he’s different to **everyone** around him, because of you. I haven’t been with the FBI since he started, but in my time I’ve never seen him smile… Until he started working with you.”

Stiles dismisses almost all of what she says, because he just doesn’t see it that way, “Do you know how long it took to actually **get** him to smile?” He sighs, “The man is impossible sometimes.”

“I know how long it took,” Allison says as she raises her left brow a little higher, “You’ve been his partner for just a **month** , and I haven’t seen him even crack the slightest smirk in years.”

“Are you sure you’re just not seeing things?” Stiles asks, narrowing his eyes, “Because I don’t really notice him smiling that much. I think I’ve seen him smile like, once or twice and that’s it… I think,” He says again.

Allison shakes her head, “All the time, _all the time_ ,” She says in reassurance, “I stare at his back most of the day, but any time I actually see his **face** , he’s smiling. Why can’t you just admit that he likes you, and be done with it, Stiles? He likes you, he likes you a lot. He was Boyd’s partner for… Nine years or something, but he was never like that with him.”

“Eleven,” Stiles corrects her gently, “And you’re delirious. Now can we go check the inside out already?”

“Lead the way, _Junior_ ,” Allison says, “You’re the one that brought this case back from the grave,” She moves around to the front of the house then and looks at Stiles, “I should probably go first, physically, though, just in case the floor’s too weak.”

“That’s sweet,” Stiles coos, lifting his gun up just in case there’s a wild animal inside, “We’ve been friends for all of a day and you’re already willing to fall through a floor for me.”

“I’m not willing to fall through a floor for you,” Allison clarifies as she walks up the front steps, “I’m testing the ground first, I’m not an idiot.”

“Aka you’re willing to fall through a floor for me,” Stiles says again and smiles, following behind her, “You don’t want me to get hurt. It’s okay, I get it. I seem to get through to the cold-hearted and warm ‘em up.”

“How does Hale deal with you?” Allison asks rhetorically, “Oh, right, he’s smitten with you,” She says as she pushes at the front door and frowns when it doesn’t give.

Stiles rolls his eyes at that, because it’s not true, “How often did your parents drop you on your head as a baby?”

Allison looks back at Stiles with a pointed look before she moves back, pressing her heel on the floor firmly before dropping her weight into her other leg as she kicks the door open, “I’m pretty sure if they’d done it at all, I wouldn’t be an agent for the FBI, you idiot,” She says, even though she’s smiling.

“Well there’s something wrong with you,” Stiles says squeakily, “Maybe the lack of human communication is slowly driving you insane. It’s feasible.”

“Ah, yes, that **must** be it,” Allison says as she rolls her eyes and walks into the house, careful to test each step by pushing down on the ground.

She weighs less than Stiles, so chances are that it could still give under his weight. She looks around the front room curiously, the entire left side is impossible to explore on the ground floor, so she looks at Stiles, “Well, we can go up, I’m not sure where the door for the basement is, but there’s also the whole right side of the house that looks fine.”

“Lead the way, _Milady_ ,” Stiles says and nods at the big staircase, “Be careful.”

Allison smiles and moves to the staircase carefully, walking up and pointing out weak steps to Stiles as she glances up ahead, “I wonder where his room would be, if it’s… If it was on the right side.”

“I dunno,” Stiles says and treads lightly, holding his gun with both hands, “Let’s just check all the rooms that are still in one piece.”

“Okay,” Allison says as she reaches the top floor and moves to the right side, testing the door there and rolling her eyes as she pushes against it, “I’ll be lucky if any of them actually **want** to open,” She mutters before kicking it open just as she had the front door.

She glances in, “Looks like a bedroom.”

“It’s a big house,” Stiles follows and looks around once he steps inside the room, “Hale had a big family, I imagine most of the rooms are bedrooms,” He says, stopping when something crunches a little under his foot.

Frowning, Stiles steps back and leans down to pick a burnt looking piece of paper up, eyes widening when he realizes that it’s a picture, “Hey, check this out,” He practically whispers, wiping his thumb across the dust and charcoal covering the photograph.

Allison moves to Stiles and tilts her head as she looks at it, “He looks all… Gangly.” She observes and chuckles.

“Yeah,” Stiles says in awe, observing the blinding smile coming from Derek in the picture, “Wow.” He lifts it up and blows at it, cleaning it a little more, “You think that’s one of his sisters?”

“I guess so,” Allison says thoughtfully, “The youngest, not Laura but… I know he had two sisters, I don’t know the other one’s name.”

“Cora,” Stiles says numbly and looks at Allison, “I remember reading it in the file,” He explains, pulling his wallet out and putting it in there carefully.

Allison smiles slowly but doesn’t say anything about it. She turns back, glancing around the room, “You think this was **his** bedroom?” She asks as she moves in further, “Looks like a boy’s room to me.”

“Maybe,” Stiles muses and moves around the room, looking at the old dresser and the broken down bed, “Wish I could bring him back more than just a picture, you know? But everything’s ruined.”

“I think a picture is more than he’s expecting,” Allison says as she raises her brows, “It’s more than he probably has of his family, as far as I know he was moved to New York after the fire. Could you imagine having **nothing** left, not even pictures of your family… Just… Memories?”

“I know he doesn’t have anything on his walls at home,” Stiles says, “But I dunno if it’s just because he doesn’t have anything or if it’s just too painful to have that kinda reminder hanging around.”

Allison frowns sadly and looks at Stiles, “Either way, I think he’d appreciate it, even if it **does** hurt.”

She sighs as she glances around, “I don’t see us finding much else though, the fire ruined pretty much everything, and the natural wear on the place has made it difficult to really get anywhere. Even if there was something to point to Peter Hale or my aunt, we’d be lucky to find it.”

Stiles nods knowingly and jerks his chin back towards the door, “We should just see if we can get into the basement, look around down there and get out of here. I can’t help but feel like I’m imposing.”

“You got that feeling too?” Allison chuckles nervously and shakes her head, “I know what you mean, being in his **bedroom** of all places, it feels… Too personal.”

She walks back to the door and out of it, “I wonder if he’s even considered coming back.”

Stiles follows impatiently, “For what?” He asks, “If this was my family home, I don’t think I’d wanna come back and see it like this… Would _you_?”

“If it was an unsolved case, you bet your ass I would,” Allison says at once, “I’d rip the walls apart trying to find out what happened. It’s not like I’d have anything better to do with my time.”

“I dunno, I just don’t see Hale coming back here,” Stiles says, wincing when taking a particular step makes his back twinge, “Maybe he thinks that if he’s dedicated the better part of his life trying to solve it, that he won’t find anything useful if he does come back.”

“Could be penance,” Allison says thoughtfully, “Survivor’s guilt, you know? Maybe he thinks that if he spends his life solving other cases and committing to the FBI, that he’s paying his dues. Men normally have that stubborn train of thought, feeling like if they stay away from it and do something else, it’ll just… Go away.”

“I think you hit the nail on the head, to be honest,” Stiles says, lowering his gun a little once they reach downstairs, “And he’s bullheaded, anyways… So,” He shrugs.

Allison nods, “Makes a lot of sense, but it’s kind of depressing. I mean, pushing aside the death of everyone you’ve loved, trying to atone for it, feeling responsible for **that** many deaths - your sisters, your father and mother, your entire family. No wonder he’s a dick, he’s got this giant, family-sized stick shoved up his ass and it’s been there for twenty years.”

“Which is precisely why I kinda dove headfirst into the case,” Stiles admits, “Not just solely because of what people say about him, but because I think he needs a break. Maybe if I can… If I can do something about it, maybe he’ll **stop** being such a dick?”

“Twenty years,” Allison responds as they wander into the room on the right side of the house, “He’s been sitting on that stick for _twenty years_ , Stiles. Just poking and prodding at it won’t really remove it, even if you manage to solve the case.”

She looks at him, “Once it’s out, there’ll be this huge, **gaping** hole-and these analogies are getting out of hand. But you know what I mean, I’m not **trying** to make it sound like anal sex.”

“It’s a little too late for that, Allison, wow,” Stiles’s eyes are almost popping out of his head, cheeks heating uncomfortably at the imagery provided, “You should’ve just stopped while you were ahead, now I’m gonna be scarred.”

“His ass isn’t that bad,” Allison says and shrugs, “What I mean is that: he’s been worked up over this case for twenty years, and you know what they say, when you have one thing in your life, one driving force, and - even if it’s not a _healthy_ force - losing it is just as bad. What do you think’ll happen if he can’t sit there and blame himself anymore? He’ll be grasping at straws.”

“So what?... I should just give up?” Stiles asks somewhat sadly, “I don’t wanna take away his reason for existing, I just-I want my partner to have some fucking closure.”

“You’ve got to be **careful** with him, Stiles,” Allison says as she looks at him, “He’s been an open wound for over half his life. I know the guy is like eight feet tall and he can toss around grown men like darts, but he’s… He’s really sensitive, and he’s angry, he’s bitter.”

She makes a face, “He’s broken, and he’s been broken for a while. Losing his last partner, almost losing you. This is something that’s really delicate. I think it’s best you involve him. He should be here with you, not me.”

“I came back to Beacon Hills to spend Christmas with my dad, I hadn’t really planned on doing this,” Stiles says, “If I would’ve known, I would’ve asked him to come… Not that he would’ve, the guy doesn’t really like spending any more time around me than necessary.”

“I think that’s where you’re wrong,” Allison says and smiles sadly, “I didn’t really plan to come out here during my holiday trip either. I’m just saying that if you want to solve this case for him, you need to do it **with** him.

"Maybe if he’s involved in the steps, it won’t seem so sudden. Hell, I don’t really know the guy at all, he might not care less about it being solved at this point,” She shrugs and turns back around to continue trying to find a door that leads downstairs, “I’ve dealt with cases like that and I’ve just come to realize that most men are really sensitive. The problems I’ve handled haven’t been put aside for _twenty years_.”

Stiles can understand where Allison is coming from, he really can, but he just doesn’t see Derek wanting to be involved, considering he lashed out at him and told him to do it on his own time.

He doesn’t bother saying that to her, though, and he just sighs, “Can we just stop with all the analyzing for now? You’re making my head hurt,” He says, still following her, “Maybe he just needs a piece of ass, you’re single, right?”

“No,” Allison says, giving him a look, “I’m with Lahey,” She moves to the back room, “And he doesn’t want my ass, I’m pretty sure he knows what he wants.”

“You’re probably right,” Stiles says bitterly, “Her name starts with a ‘C’ and ends with a ‘hristy’. I was so gonna pun on it and turn it into icky, but it just won’t work.”

Allison chuckles and shakes her head, she’s not sure who ‘Christy’ is, but it’s not ‘Stiles’. She doesn’t bother correcting him, he’s clearly in denial, and probably in more ways than _one_ , “I don’t think the guy wants sex at all, he’s like a beef cake, he could get it any time he wants. Maybe he just wants a hug.”

“He’s had hugs recently,” Stiles says without thinking, “I don’t think that’s it.”

Allison raises a brow at Stiles as she kicks the side door in the room open, “He’s hugged you?”

“Uh,” Stiles says dumbly and purses his lips for a moment before he answers, “ _Kinda_?” He squeaks, trying not to flinch at her kicking the door open.

“If it happened the night you got stabbed, and he was drunk, it doesn’t count,” Allison says at once, grinning at the stone steps leading downwards and she descends them, “Besides, I think you should initiate it, the guy **needs** a hug from someone, I don’t care when the last one he got was.”

“If I hug him and get punched, I’m blaming you,” Stiles says, looking around curiously as he follows her down.

“Blame me all you want, just as long as you do it,” Allison says as she grins to herself and reaches the bottom steps, moving down the dark hall and stopping at a large metal door.

She reaches out and wrenches it open, “This is the creepiest sex dungeon I think I’ve ever seen...” She says before she can stop herself.

“Oh my God,” Stiles rolls his eyes, but he smiles and chuckles, “The fact that that kinda indicates you’ve seen others sort of frightens me.”

Allison looks back at Stiles, “I’ve seen a _few_ in my line of work,” She admits before walking into it, “I can see how people would be easily locked inside and burned alive,” She says as she glances back at the door again, “Just put a lock on the handles outside and burn it up.”

Stiles frowns and looks around at the way plants and vines are all over the place, narrowing his eyes at the abnormal looking char patterns not only on the walls, but on the floor as well, “It was put down as an electrical fire,” He says, shaking his head, “But I’ve got a feeling you’re right, someone didn’t want Hale’s family getting out of this room.”

“Definitely not,” Allison agrees, looking at the handcuffs on the fences in the room and it’s a _little_ weird, but she wasn’t lying when she said it wasn’t her first sex dungeon.

“I feel like it would’ve been more than one person, though. To lock the inside and then-” She makes a motion to the barred window, “Pour gasoline inside and light it up. If I was assigned to this case twenty years ago I’d punch whoever suggested an electrical fire.”

“You and me both,” Stiles says, still frowning as he looks around, “We should go,” He says, “You’ve got things to do with your family and I’ve got things to do with my dad. And I need to get a hold of Hale.”

Allison nods as she looks around once more before walking out, “And you still need to look at those files and compare them to one another, I’d ask you to tell me what you find, but you should tell Hale instead.”

“Yeah, he’s probably not gonna like the fact that I’ve gotten you so involved,” Stiles snorts and follows close behind, “So, you know, if I go missing after I tell him, try to find my body and return it to my dad.”

“And then I’ll probably know who the killer is,” Allison responds smartly, rolling her eyes, “Don’t be so dramatic, Stilinski. He doesn’t need to know, just don’t tell him.”

“I can’t not tell him,” Stiles explains, “I don’t do secrets very well, not even withholding information. It just-It festers until it all comes out at once.”

Allison giggles and shakes her head, “Well, if it makes you feel better, you can tell him I was mean and I made you do it.”

[MageStiles](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/) ϟ [Sparklinski](http://sparklinski.tumblr.com/)


	14. Some Holiday Spirit

Stiles finds a comfortable sitting position on his bed and pulls the box of evidence closer that his father procured for him, taking the lid off and sitting it aside as he grabs his phone from the headboard to turn it on.

It’s been kind of peaceful leaving it off, catching up with his dad, drinking beer - apple juice for the old man - and watching football games, but he remembers reading something in the Hale file about Christmas being Derek’s birthday, so he wants to send him a text.

He pulls a zip-locked bag of evidence out of the box and sits it in front of himself, then types out a quick message to his partner, ignoring the fact that he evidently has about ten missed calls and thirty-two missed text messages.

**To: Hale**  
Merry Birthday, big guy.

Derek looks up from his seat at the office and frowns as his phone starts vibrating in his back pocket. He narrows his brows and reaches back to pull it out, unlocking it and looking at the message before quickly responding.

**To: partner**  
what?

Stiles opens the bags and pulls a pair of plastic gloves out of the box first, not wanting to tamper too much with it and raises a brow when he gets a response so quickly.

He reads it and rolls his eyes, responding with latex covered fingers.

**To: Hale**  
Happy Birthday + Merry Christmas = Merry Birthday, dumbass.

**To: partner**  
shut up stilinski

**To: Hale**  
I miss you too, buddy.

Derek looks at the message and glances around the office (which consists of one other person, Whittemore) before standing up and leaving to go to the break room for more privacy.

**To: partner**  
how is your back?

Stiles bites his bottom lip and grins to himself, evidence still waiting on him.

**To: Hale**  
Festering, running a fever of 101.3

Derek frowns at the text and feels almost sick at once, turning back around.

**To: partner**  
on my way

Stiles honestly considers **not** telling Derek that he’s joking, just so he can see his partner, but he knows the older man would be pissed as Hell when he gets there and he’s right as rain.

**To: Hale**  
I was kidding… But you could still come up, dad wants to meet you.

**To: partner**  
im gonna fucking kill you

Derek responds and all but growls, surprised when the phone doesn’t crack in his hands and he considers just turning it off and ignoring Stiles.

**To: Hale**  
No you’re not.

Stiles sends the message and part of him wishes he would’ve milked it a little longer, because now he knows the messages are going to die down, so he sends another.

**To: Hale**  
I’m looking through the old evidence of your family’s fire.

Derek rolls his eyes as he takes a seat in the back corner of the break room.

**To: partner**  
of course you are

Stiles pulls a little manila envelope of teeth out of the plastic bag and empties a few into his palm, frowning when he notices how different they all look, some abnormal, some weirdly oval shaped and others long and sharp looking. He tries to type out another text with his free hand.

**To: Hale**  
You should be looking at it with me, some of these teeth are kinda weird.

**To: Partner**  
im aware of the anomalies of the case

Derek doesn’t like the idea of a boy with a taste for the paranormal to be unknowingly looking at _werewolf teeth_ , but it’s not like he can stop Stiles from where he’s at.

**To: Hale**  
You know, it wouldn’t actually kill you to respond with something I can actually work with. You’re impossible to talk to.

Stiles puts all of the teeth back except for the longer, sharper ones and he observes them closely, imagination running wild as he envisions what they must’ve actually looked like on a normal person.

Derek frowns and shifts in his seat as he rereads the comment, trying to figure out if he should tell Stiles the bad news or leave it until he gets back. It’s probably best he doesn’t say, though.

**To: partner**  
has your father been taking care of your dressings?

**To: Hale**  
He’s the sheriff, he’s busy. I’m half-assing it.

**To: partner**  
should i come?

Derek feels his cheeks heat once he realizes the vague question, but doesn’t bother fixing it once it’s been sent.

Stiles gapes at the message and narrows his brows, stomach twisting up into knots as he replies vaguely, unable to bring himself to type out what he really wants to write.

**To: Hale**  
I’ll survive for another week.

**To: partner**  
you could get infected and you could die

**To: Hale**  
Hale… I’ll be fine, I’m practically brand new.

Derek’s not even sure how to _read_ the text he gets back and he narrows his brows, unsure if the ‘...’ is a pause or if it even matters.

**To: partner**  
if you can dress it on your own why have i been doing it?

**To: Hale**  
Because I’m not very good at it, it hurts to twist that way. I said I’m half-assing it and I mean I’m half _assing_ it, I’m probably gonna need an antibiotic when I get back.

Derek sighs in annoyance at the feeling of back and forth with every message he gets.

**To: partner**  
im coming there

**To: Hale**  
You don’t even know where I live.

**To: partner**  
sheriffs house not difficult to find

Derek stands up from his seat and walks out of the break room, into the office to grab his things.

Stiles’s eyes widen when he reads the message and realizes that the older man isn’t kidding, but at the same time he can’t bring himself to tell him not to bother. He glances at the sharp teeth in his gloved hand in shock and responds.

**To: Hale**  
That last message makes you sound like a caveman.

Derek smirks to himself as he leaves the office, coat thrown over his right arm as he reads the message and nearly walks into the frame of the door. He stills and straightens up as he hears Whittemore chuckle from his seat, but doesn’t bother looking back as he responds.

**To: partner**  
shut up stilinski

In all honesty, he’d never bothered trying to figure out how to use punctuation in phones, it wasn’t implemented very well. The best he’s got is the question mark.

**To: Hale**  
You know I feel like we could probably communicate better through strained grunts and nonsensical shouting.

Derek blushes furiously as he reads the text as wrong as he possibly can and he sighs in frustration before responding.

**To: partner**  
are you done?

**To: Hale**  
uuuugh uuuugh ooo ooo

Derek frowns as he reads the words and as much as they’re just letters, he swears he can hear it in his head.

**To: partner**  
ill turn off my phone if you dont shut the fuck up

**To: Hale**  
That text meant drive safe and I’ll see you when you get here…

Stiles has a small epiphany and feels marginally guilty that Derek’s actually coming to take care of him not only on Christmas, but on his fucking birthday and he has no clue how he’s supposed to explain this to his dad.

To Derek, it might as well have been a sext text or something, for all his brain provided.

**To: partner**  
see you soon

* * *

The drive is unusually quick, considering Derek is silent the entire time, and though it’s not exactly how he’d planned to spend the better part of the day, he actually feels good doing it.

Every year he’s worked the entire day around the holidays, doing paperwork mostly to keep his mind off things, sitting across from Boyd who was normally doing the **exact** same for almost the exact same reasons. He’s only somewhat wary of being back in his hometown, but considering that’s where Stiles is at, he can make an exception.

He parks his car on the right side of the driveway and climbs out, taking his coat and holster from the back and putting on both out of habit before walking up to the house and knocking firmly on the door.

Stiles is literally in the middle of a war zone of nothing but evidence and papers from the files when he looks up. He furrows his brows, because if it’s Derek, then the older man got there incredibly fast, “If your seven feet tall and are covered in hair from head to toe, you can come in - it’s unlocked!” He shouts loudly.

Derek raises his brow at the comment and walks into the house, removing his shoes at the door and closing it as he pulls off his coat. He glances around the living room, the kitchen, and then the stairs as he silently realizes he never changed out of his work clothes.

“Follow the sound of my voice,” Stiles fluctuates said voice, trying to make himself sound creepy as he props his pen in his mouth, beginning to pick up files and whatnot.

The werewolf rolls his eyes and starts up the stairs, reaching up to loosen his tie before he turns into the room on the right and frowns as he looks at the state of it, but his heart races oddly when he sees Stiles - even fighting perps isn’t able to do as much anymore, “You make a habit of spreading everything out everywhere.”

“Please,” Stiles says around the pen in his mouth and looks up at the older man in his doorway, unable to keep from smiling, “If I did something like this at my current place, Heather would have a coronary. This…” He waves his hand out around vaguely, “This is my domain, I work better in a mess.”

Derek moves into the room, taking one of the papers from Stiles’s right and glancing it over. It’s discomforting how easily his mind jumps to things, looking at Stiles where he is, especially after the text messages, “I don’t see how.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to, Mister Everything Has To Be Neat And Perfectly Aligned On My Desk,” Stiles responds and fights the urge to chuckle, groaning a little as he pushes himself up off of the floor.

Derek reaches down to help him up, carefully lifting the boy to his feet, “You were able to get the dental records from the fire?... From your father?”

“Yeah,” Stiles answers and pulls his shirt down a little from where it rode up, body mindlessly gravitating towards his partner, “You should see these things,” He says, trying to contain his excitement as he limps to his bed and grabs the manila envelope with the teeth in them.

He takes two gloves, one for him and one for Derek and tosses one to him before pulling his own on, then emptying the packet into his palm, “Do you remember anyone in your family having canines like this?”

Derek looks at the teeth nervously, not bothering with the glove as he stares and feels his stomach twist. No one’s canines look like that, of course, just a werewolf, but he doesn’t say as much. All he knows is that his father’s teeth and his mother’s teeth are in Stiles’s hand. It makes him sick for a moment and he turns away, closing his eyes as he tries not to think about it.

It takes Stiles a minute to realize how incredibly insensitive he’s being by subjecting Derek to this and immediately puts them back, swallowing thickly as he puts the evidence back and takes the glove off.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Hale,” He says, frowning, “I wasn’t thinking… You can like, punch me in the fucking face or something for being a dickbag if you want?”

“It’s fine,” Derek mutters as he reaches back blindly and takes Stiles’s wrist in his hand as he tries to focus and calm himself down. There’s a **few** reasons he hasn’t bothered looking much into this case, and that’s one of them, “I wasn’t… Prepared.”

Stiles looks down at the hand grasping his wrist and his frown deepens, “I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that,” He says softly, glancing over to his wallet on the dresser, “Hey, I have something for you,” He tells him.

“Stilinski,” Derek starts to say tentatively, turning to watch Stiles and he’s positive he isn’t prepared for anything else the boy is likely to show him.

Stiles doesn’t want to pull away, but he does and limps to his dresser to get the picture of Derek and his sister, looking at it for a second before turning and moving back to the taller man.

“So um…” He starts, hiding the photograph in his hand as he looks up at Derek, “I kinda found this when Allison and I looked at your old place,” He admits, keeping his eyes intently on his partner’s as he hands the picture over.

Derek starts to open his mouth but stops when Stiles offers the picture to him and he takes it, staring down at it silently. He hasn’t even thought of Cora in years, it seems, and the picture feels like both a punch in the gut and somewhat relieving at the same time.

He looks weird in the picture, abnormally happy, like his face might crack or something, but the expression on Cora’s face is one he remembers too well, that sarcastic disbelief that reminded him of their dad sometimes.

He lets out a huff of breath as he moves close to Stiles and wraps his arms around the boy, otherwise silent as he leans down the best he can.

Stiles’s eyes widen dramatically and he feels his heart race all of the sudden, because he hadn’t been anticipating a hug, not while his partner is sober, anyways. He’s completely still for a moment, but then he furrows his brows and reaches up to hug the older man back, all but burying his face against Derek’s firm shoulder.

Derek doesn’t linger, as much as he wants to, pulling back quickly and turning away as he pockets the photo and clears his throat, “We need to change your bandages.”

“Right,” Stiles says numbly and stands there, still watching his partner carefully for a moment before he starts off towards his door, “Come on, Hoss.”

Derek lifts his brow at the odd nickname and follows, not bothering to correct Stiles as he watches his partner. He still doesn’t like how just being around the boy makes him feel, watching him, listening to him, and now Derek’s had his arms around Stiles and he already wants to do it again. He doesn’t like it at all, but it’s not gonna go away.

“Afterwards… We can work on the case, just… Not the physical evidence.”

Stiles looks back at Derek over his shoulder and nods, “Okay,” He says, then moves across the hall to the main bathroom, turning on the light before pulling his shirt off, “I’ve already got pretty much everything sitting out on the counter,” He tells his partner, nodding to it all as he lays his shirt down on the closed toilet seat.

Derek throws his tie over his shoulder and rolls back his sleeves, buttoning his cuffs passed his elbows before moving to wash his hands as he tries not to look at Stiles too obviously, “How often have you been doing it on your own?”

“I’ve been managing like three times a day,” Stiles says and moves closer. Instead of going through the embarrassment of getting stuck on the toilet again, he stands next to Derek in front of the counter, putting his palms flat against it and leaning forward a little bit to show the older man.

Derek nods silently and moves to remove the old bandaging and smiling at the halfhearted attempt from Stiles before shaking his head and carefully tugging it off, throwing it away and moving to wash his hands again, “It’s not bad, but you’ve been straining some of the stitches on the bottom.”

“At least I’ve been trying,” Stiles mutters, dropping down to rest his elbows on the counter, all but relaxing against it as he watches the older man, “Thank you for coming up, it’s a shitty thing to have to do on your birthday.”

“I was at work,” Derek says shortly as he returns with a warm, soapy washcloth, and doesn’t bother to explain that it’s probably one of the best things he’s done during this time of year in a long time.

“It’s nice to know that tending to your wounded partner is just marginally more fun for you than doing paperwork,” Stiles says sardonically, trying to look at the taller man from over his shoulder.

Derek presses his left hand to Stiles’s hip to hold him still as he reaches up with his right to clean around the wound, “You’ve been sitting and leaning forward too much.”

“I’ve also been walking my ass off,” Stiles points out and closes his eyes the moment he feels the firm hand on his hip, “Did you really come all the way up here just to change my bandages and get onto me like a little child? Or are you actually gonna, oh, I dunno, maybe actually conversate with me like I’m a normal human being?”

Derek narrows his brows and prods Stiles’s stitches before moving back to the sink to wash his hands again, but doesn’t say anything in response.

“You’re all the time getting on to me about acting like a child,” Stiles continues, taking Derek’s silence as an open invitation to ramble, “Did it ever really occur to you that I might actually benefit from you treating me like an equal?”

“We’ve had a similar conversation before,” Derek says dismissively and moves to Stiles once more to put on the new dressing.

“Right, I know,” Stiles says, “And this time I’m not trying to prove my manlihood to you, all I’m saying is that…” He sighs and shakes his head, “Forget it, just slap it on and chastise me for doing a bad job.”

Derek glances at Stiles’s reflection in the mirror and swallows at his suggestive position _behind_ his partner, his left hand mindlessly dropping lower for a moment and he pulls his hands away completely to put the patch on carefully before he moves to wash his hands for the last time, “I came up to change your bandages.”

“Of course you did,” Stiles says and he hates that it actually bothers him that Derek feels the need to point it out, he shouldn’t have expected a decent conversation or for them to get along for more than ten minutes, “Well, I’m good now, you can go. Thanks.”

Derek all but rolls his eyes and turns Stiles around to look him in the eyes before reaching down to pick up his shirt and hand it over as he stares at the younger man, “Thanks for the photo,” He says softly before leaving the bathroom.

Stiles watches Derek walk out of the room and he pulls his shirt on, fixing the wrinkles before following his partner out, “No problem,” He responds, moving back into the chaos of his old bedroom.

Derek walks downstairs to the door, grabbing his coat and stopping to fix his sleeves and straighten his tie. He’s not sure if they just argued or not, unsure of why Stiles would bother getting upset over something that was blatantly obvious, granted he actually **didn’t** just come up to change the boy’s bandages. It was still nice to be able to do, in general. He leans down to untie his shoes and pulls them on.

Stiles watches his doorway for a moment and frowns when he realizes Derek took him seriously, of course he did, “Hale?” He calls out and leaves his room again, touching the top of the staircase before venturing about halfway down, far enough to be able to see his partner, “I thought we were gonna look at the case together,” He says.

Derek narrows his brows and glances down at himself for a moment before taking off his shoes again and moving to Stiles on the stairs, reaching out for the boy’s waist to offer support, “You told me to leave, I figured you… Wanted me to leave,” He says plainly.

“Well, you said you only came to change my bandages,” Stiles says and mindlessly touches the hand on his waist, “Maybe show a little interest in wanting to-to… To… You know, be around me off the clock.”

Derek lifts a brow as he stares up at Stiles from his stance lower on the stairs, “If I’m around you off the clock, I’m showing interest.”

“Not when it’s just to change my bandages,” Stiles says, “For all I know, it could just feel obligatory for you, helping me like this. I mean, you make it seem so horrible to actually carry on a normal conversation.”

“Stilinski,” Derek sighs as he moves the couple of steps up to stare at Stiles at almost eye level, “It’s not obligatory,” It’s just difficult to express anything when lately, most of the time, he just wants to bend Stiles over something and fuck him.

Stiles stares back at Derek and part of him actually likes this whole seeing eye to eye thing, _literally_ , but he still feels a little put off, “Good,” He says, removing his hand from his partner’s larger one, “Now let’s go look over your family’s case together.”

Derek stares at Stiles and feels like he should make some more effort, without expressing himself too much and ruining what’s happening between them, “Stilinski,” He says again, letting out a huff of breath, “I’m not Scott,” He starts and he already knows he’s doing it wrong, “I’m not like him, it isn’t easy for me to communicate in general. I’m not being short, but I’d like to think we’re… Friends.”

“Yeah?” Stiles asks with a hopeful lilt to his voice and smiles slowly, “Yeah, we are,” He confirms and reaches up, palm patting against the older man’s stubbly cheek, “And friends do things together, caveman, so let’s get to moving.”

Derek takes his hand from Stiles’s waist tentatively, smiling slightly as he nods and motions for his partner to walk back up the stairs.

[MageStiles](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/) ϟ [Sparklinski](http://sparklinski.tumblr.com/)


	15. Pale Peter Hale

Actually looking over the Hale case with Derek settles some sense of pride deep in Stiles’s chest, because his partner is actually willingly taking part in something he otherwise wanted no part of at this point in his life.

They don’t really delve into it, but it’s nice looking over a few details with the guy without having the older man constantly rolling his eyes and telling him to shut up. It seems to get late quick, though, and before he even knows it it’s beginning to get dark and his dad’s still not home, which means he probably will be soon.

“Hey, you wanna go downstairs with me so I can order some food?” Stiles asks and starts putting all the papers back in the file, tapping Derek on the leg with it before he settles it on his old desk, “Dad should be home soon, too. And I’m pretty sure he wants to meet you. Shake the hand of the man who saved his son’s life and all that.”

Derek looks up from the photos of the house that he’s been filtering through for some time now, meeting Stiles’s eyes before nodding. He’s tempted to tell Stiles that, technically, he’s already met the sheriff, but figures his partner is well aware of the fact.

He stands up from his seat, setting the pile of photos on the file on the desk before turning to the door, “How’s your back?”

“Like a back that’s been stabbed,” Stiles says sarcastically and smiles at Derek as he moves passed the taller man, limping slowly, “Healing and shit, I’m fine.”

Derek smiles slightly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes like he usually would, “It’s not good for you to be walking up and down stairs so much this close to the surgery.”

“Maybe I should talk to dad about getting one of those chair lifts installed for the short amount of time I’ll be here,” Stiles says dryly, small smile still playing on his lips as he thwaps Derek’s chest with the back of his hand, “It’s fine, I’m fine, come on. I need to get used to this, to dragging my ass around without so much help.”

“Stairs are different,” Derek observes as he moves passed Stiles to go down them first and offer his support from a couple steps lower, “That’s probably what’s been irritating the ones on the bottom.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re worse than a mother hen?” Stiles asks and starts on the steps, reaching up to hold Derek’s shoulders, but he doesn’t move yet, “How much can you bench press?” He asks abruptly.

Derek frowns at the question because there’s no possible way he could answer without having to lie, he has to feign difficulties at the gym as it is, “Why?”

“Because,” Stiles says and chuckles as he wraps his arms tightly around his partner’s neck, lifting his legs slowly and wrapping them around the taller man’s waist, “I’m gonna piggy back you, don’t drop me.”

Derek feels his cheeks heat and he resorts to sighing as he feels the soft, dull weight of Stiles as he takes his feet off the ground, “You’re gonna tear your stitches if you’re not careful,” He says as he stands on the stairs.

“I **am** being careful,” Stiles points out, the side of his face almost bumping against Derek’s, “And this is better than both me walking down the steps and you carrying me any other way, so… Hi ho, silver, let’s go.”

“Stilinski,” Derek mutters, and he could **easily** just have lifted Stiles by his waist and walked him down, but that probably would’ve been obvious of supernatural strength, considering the kid is at least a hundred and seventy pounds. And he’s an FBI agent, which means he’d easily observe the lack of effort Derek would be putting into it, lifting Stiles and carrying him up and down stairs like he’s a toothpick.

He sighs again, reaching back to touch Stiles’s thighs just in case the idiot loses his hold, “Keep your back straight,” He says before he walks down the stairs.

“It is,” Stiles says and opts for hooking his ankles together around Derek, “It’s kinda impossible to slouch much when my chest is against your back, stop pestering me and get me downstairs in one piece.”

“Shut up,” Derek responds as he takes firm, careful steps until he reaches the bottom.

The young man has the longest, thinnest little legs, he’s not surprised they can wrap around him completely… Which starts leading to him thinking of them around him in _other_ ways. He crouches slightly so that when Stiles gets down he doesn’t have to make much effort to reach the floor.

Stiles unhooks his ankles and eases his feet to the floor, somewhat reluctantly drawing his hands back, “You’re a good ride, Hale,” He says, patting his partner’s back as he moves around him and heads for the kitchen.

Derek’s eyes widen as he watches Stiles walk away and his heart races a bit as he balls his hands into fists and follows his partner once more, looking around the kitchen as he puts his hands in his pockets, “Right…”

“I’m serious,” Stiles says, not at all serious about it as he reaches for the phone on the wall, “We could like, attach a saddle to your back and you could give rides for a little extra cash on the side,” He jokes, looking at the list of take-out places his dad keeps on the wall next to the phone, “You want anything particular to eat?”

“Not really,” Derek responds dismissively, trying to ignore the rest of what the boy says. It’s annoying that he can just say those kinds of things and think nothing of it afterwards, “Get what you want.”

“You use to live here,” Stiles says, propping his hip against the wall as he holds the phone loosely in his hand.

“I was fifteen, I don’t remember any of it, much.”

“You’re gonna thank me for this,” Stiles tells him and grins before dialing the number, ordering what would seem like an insane amount of food to anyone else, but he knows Derek will eat it all.

He hangs up right around the time he hears the cruiser pull in out front, “Dad’s home, try not to scare the shit out of him with your larger than life presence, yeah? I don’t think he believed me when I told him you’re practically seven feet tall.”

Derek listens to the sound of the vehicle outside, watching Stiles as he turns and glances down at himself, he’s not sure **why** he does it, probably to make sure he looks presentable, but it’s not like he’s changed since he got to the house. He pats his pocket, checking his keys and glancing around the house for a moment as he listens to the sheriff walking up the steps and opening the door.

John walks over the threshold, taking of his jacket, “Stiles, whose car is that out-” He stops when he sees the large mountain of a man standing in his kitchen and his eyes widen.

Stiles is entirely too amused with both Derek’s unfounded nervousness and his father’s reaction to the wall of muscle standing next to him, “It’s just Hale’s,” He says flippantly, “Dad, meet my partner,” He gestures from Derek to his father then, “Partner, meet my dad… Formally.”

Derek offers his hand as the sheriff walks slowly up at him, “Special agent Derek Hale of the FBI, Sheriff,” He says stiffly, watching the older man.

John smiles at the introduction and moves close to pull the larger man into a hug, “You saved my son’s life, I’m not shaking your hand.”

Derek stills in confusion and looks at Stiles.

“It’s okay,” Stiles mouths quietly, nodding with raised brows, “The man is just appreciative. You’re like three times his size, he won’t hurt you.”

Derek frowns, but hugs back awkwardly, unsure if he should pat the man on the back or something so he just kind of stands there and looks at Stiles before he pulls away, “Anyone else would’ve done the same.”

John waves his hand dismissively in front of him, “You’re not giving yourself enough credit,” He looks at Stiles then, “So why is Derek Hale here? I thought he had other… Things? I can’t remember, he’s not working?”

“No, he’s… He’s working,” Stiles says and shrugs, glancing at his partner, “He just drove up to help with my bandages since you’ve been busy, he probably has to head back for work again tomorrow.”

John frowns in confusion and turns to Derek Hale, “You came all this way to change his bandages?”

Derek narrows his eyes at the comment and isn’t sure how **best** to justify it so he shrugs, “They needed to be changed.”

Stiles scratches the side of his head as he looks between the two of them, mouth hanging open slightly before he chimes in to change the subject, “I ordered food,” He says, more to his dad than anything, only briefly glancing at Derek.

John nods and smiles at his son, “I hope you got enough for your partner, a man that size probably eats a good amount to keep in shape.”

“You think you know,” Stiles snorts, eyes wide as he shakes his head, “But you seriously have no idea,” He grins at Derek, “He’s a bottomless pit,” He explains to his father while he looks at his partner.

Derek nods slightly in agreement, glancing between the two and noting to himself how Stiles doesn’t look much like his father. There are small similarities, but judging from the work spread out on the table and the giant file boxes, he’s going to assume that what his partner got most from his father was his passion for the work.

“I don’t doubt it,” John says and chuckles, “You look good for your age,” He observes, “Healthy. Well, Derek, it’s nice to meet you, Stiles has been telling me a lot about you since I picked him up. FBI, can’t say it’s surprising to see you working as an agent. You like your job?”

“Yeah,” Derek lies and continues to stand oddly with them as the sheriff takes off his shoes, “It’s a good job.”

“Pay could be better,” Stiles mentions, thinking back to the conversation he and Derek had about private investigators, “Get a load of this, pops. Hale’s a Christmas baby.”

John takes off his tie and motions for them to move to the living room, “Really? Well, happy birthday.”

Derek frowns at the comment and walks into the living room with Stiles as he tries not to look discomforted, “Thanks,” He says somewhat stiffly.

“You should convince him to watch the game with us after we eat,” Stiles says to his dad, taking a seat on the loveseat and grimacing slightly as he scoots back to get comfortable.

Derek watches the look on Stiles’s face as he sits as well, “Careful,” He says pointedly.

John takes his recliner and chuckles at the concerned comment, “You should listen to him, son. Knife wounds aren’t a game.”

“I’m **fine** ,” Stiles says for probably the millionth time, “He pesters me enough, don’t you start in on me, too.”

He looks at Derek then and tries not to think too much into the fact that his partner chose to sit next to him instead of opting for the couch, “You should stay and watch the football game with us,” He insists, “Or do you even like football? I know you used to play basketball.”

Derek nods subtly, “I play basketball every week.”

“I thought you said he wasn’t a people person.”

“Guess I don’t know him as well as I thought I did,” Stiles says dismissively and props his feet up on the coffee table.

“It’s good to have things outside of work to do,” John says thoughtfully and turns back to Derek, “What about football, you like it?”

“Not really, but I don’t mind watching,” Derek admits and pushes Stiles’s feet back down, “Keeping your body at that angle is gonna tear your stitches.”

“No it’s not,” Stiles says defiantly and puts his feet back up, “I wanna prop my feet up.”

Derek glares at Stiles, “Don’t,” He warns the boy, pushing his feet back down, “I’ll hold them down.”

“You’re so mean to me,” Stiles tells his partner in a forced, harsh voice, but there’s no heat to it, “Stop busting my balls over everything.”

John laughs and nods knowingly, “It’s good you have a partner like that, you need some structure now that you’re on your own.”

“I have plenty of structure, thank you very much,” Stiles scoffs at his dad with wide eyes.

“No, you don’t,” Derek and John say at the same time and look at one another.

John shakes his head, smiling wide, “I doubt you’ll find a more fitting partner than that.”

Derek smirks to himself and turns to Stiles then, looking at him with a raised brow as if to say ‘see?’.

“Bet you’re feeling pretty smug right now, huh, big guy?” Stiles speaks lowly to him, “You’re lucky I’m fragile right now, otherwise I’d totally wipe the floor with your face,” He jokes.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Derek says and rolls his eyes, “You’re half my size.”

“I like this guy,” John responds suddenly, probably more amused than he has any right to be, and he watches his son closely, “So did he just show up at the door or did you call him?”

“I texted him,” Stiles says, “And him, being the overbearing, secretly nurturing partner that he is, said he was coming up because I told him I was half-assing my bandages.”

Derek sighs and shifts slightly in his seat, “You’ve neglected your wound enough, you’re lucky you haven’t died yet.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Stiles shakes his head, “It’s not nearly half as bad as you’re making it out to be.”

“I’ve seen it happen before,” Derek explains himself, “You wouldn’t be the first person to die ironically after **surviving** a stab wound.”

“He’s right, son,” John says, feeling comforted that Stiles’s partner is as paranoid as he is, “You shouldn’t shrug it off so easily.”

“I’m not shrugging it off,” Stiles says, “I just think you’re **both** overreacting a little bit. If I felt bad or if it hurt more than it normally does, I would take myself to the nearest hospital… But I’m fine, so chill,” He looks between them both, “Both of you.”

“Shut up, Stilinski,” Derek says and glances at the photos on the walls of the house, “When I came to your house the first time you wouldn’t have even **noticed** if it was hurting more than normal.”

“And it’s also a moot point,” Stiles moves his knee and purposefully hits Derek’s, “That was then, this is now and I’m not drowning the pain with percocet.”

“The point is that you **aren’t** always fine, even when you think you are,” Derek says as he turns to glare at Stiles.

“Okay, you two,” John says and claps his hands together to catch their attention, “Stop arguing like an old married couple, it’s Christmas, and **your** birthday,” He looks at Derek, “Just enjoy one another’s company while Derek’s in town, _Stiles_.”

“I do enjoy his company,” Stiles pointedly ignores the comment about them, “It’s the other way around, I have to practically force him to hang out with me if we’re not at work.”

“Yet he was willing to come up here to take care of you without a second thought,” John points out and smiles, “Appreciate the larger things.”

Derek glances between Stiles and his father, “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“You, shush,” Stiles says to Derek and then looks at his dad, “And you are totally supposed to be on my side, I feel betrayed,” He complains and stands up when the doorbell rings, “You guys shouldn’t be ganging up on me, I’m delicate right now.”

Derek reaches out to Stiles and motions for him to sit back down, getting up himself, “I’ve got it,” He says as he moves to the door, answering and paying for their food quickly before returning to the living room. Considering he’ll be eating about triple the amount of Stiles and his dad together, it’s best he covers it.

“Me ordering food was supposed to be like, a birthday slash Christmas present to you,” Stiles says when Derek comes back in with bags of take-out, “You paying for it kind of defeats the purpose, Hale.”

“Save it,” Derek says dismissively as he sets everything down on the coffee table, “I don’t need anything.”

John nods in understanding, sitting upright and looking at all of the food, “Did you overcompensate with the order?” He asks, eyes wide.

“Nope,” Stiles says, popping the ‘p’ as he sits forward in his seat, “I wasn’t joking about him being a bottomless pit, the amounts of food he can consume is frightening.”

John looks at Derek in shock, “He’s kidding, isn’t he?”

Derek shakes his head subtly, his senses going insane with the smell of the food, he could probably eat **more** than this, considering he skipped lunch, “He’s not.”

Stiles grins to himself and starts pulling food out of the bag, offering the vegetable plates to his father and dishing some chicken to Derek, setting everything else out before grabbing his egg drop soup and sitting back again, “If you need to go clean up afterwards, I completely understand,” He says to Derek.

Derek frowns, but otherwise doesn’t respond as he looks at Stiles, eating silently as his insides twist awkwardly. He’s strange and out of place in the house, let alone the town, but he can pretty much avoid thinking of it that way when he’s sitting beside his partner.

John sighs as he looks at his food and shakes his head before taking a few bites as he glances at the way Derek looks at Stiles.

Stiles eats his soup and reaches for an eggroll, turning sideways a little in his seat to glance at his partner every so often to watch his expression, his knee pressing insistently into the older man’s thigh, “Good?”

“Yeah,” Derek says thoughtfully as he practically inhales the food and John shakes his head as he watches the man eat.

“You have one Hell of an appetite,” John observes and chuckles, “I thought **Stiles** ate a lot, but I’m impressed.”

“I think you’re just jealous and want to live vicariously through him,” Stiles points out and looks at Derek, probably a little too comfortable sitting this close to the older man, “I won’t really let him have any meat or salt, or bread for that matter. He’s probably been stuffing his face since I’ve been gone.”

“I haven’t,” John says in annoyance, but Stiles is definitely right about the empathy, “I’ve been keeping up with your stupid health diet crap.”

Derek smirks at the comment and it oddly reminds him of Stiles, he might as well be listening to a mixture of Stiles and himself arguing back and forth with his partner.

* * *

Stiles droops forward and puts another empty bottle of beer onto the coffee table with the sea of the rest, then slinks back against the cushion of the couch as he blinks at the television, not hearing anything the news correspondent is saying about the ruckus in Time’s Square.

He’s burning up, cheeks flushed from the alcohol and his mind swirls pleasantly with the buzz, his partner solid at his side. He’s slightly bummed his dad couldn’t be home to ring in the new years with them, but it’s also not so bad just hanging out with Derek.

“I don’t-” Stiles starts and hiccups, lifting a hand to ruffle his already tousled hair, “Don’t think I’ve ever drunk… Drunken… _Drank_ this much.”

Derek looks at the bottles on the table as he sips his own, his partner’s already drunk himself under the table, metaphorically, and Derek’s had about the same amount, mind still as clear as it was when he picked up the first. He’s not sure if Stiles can tell he’s completely sober, but he watches Stiles warily and nods, “You’re lucky you don’t have to avoid your girlfriend’s tonight. Last time, you got stabbed.”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighs and rubs his stomach, parallel from where the wound is on his back, “It’d be-be so much less… It’d be easier, less hassle if she’d just-” He stops for a moment to wet his lips, “If she’d just let me enjoy myself sometimes. S’stupid I can’t drink in my o-own home.”

Derek nods in agreement and looks at Stiles’s hand, “Is there a particular reason why she has a problem with it?” Not that he cares, he doesn’t mind a drunken Stiles, if he’s being honest with himself, the kid’s singing is annoying as Hell, but he’s mildly entertaining when he’s had a few drinks.

“Just doesn’t want me to,” Stiles guesses, because he really doesn’t know and he feels too good right now to think too much into it, “I love’er, though. I do,” He slurs, “It’s…” He doesn’t realize it, but he frowns to himself, “It’s hard to-to not love someone you’ve dedicated such a-really long time to.”

“I guess,” Derek passively agrees, even though he doesn’t, and their entire relationship is a farce.

Stiles probably doesn’t realize that even he’s losing reason for his relationship. What he says makes it sound like an obligation, which can’t be healthy. What’s worse is seeing his partner, someone he knows he’s falling for, struggling to keep his relationship together when Derek knows it’s already too late, and he can’t say a word about it.

Stiles squints at the television and sighs, pushing his hand up under the front of his shirt to scratch just beneath his navel, “M’not a good boyfriend,” He says, resting his palm against his skin instead of pulling it away, “There’s-It’s no wonder she’s so mad at me all the time, I don’t… Don’t give her enough attention, too focused on work.”

“It’s not just that,” Derek mutters as he shifts uncomfortably, “If your relationship is difficult, it’s because of the both of you, don’t take it out on yourself, Stilinski.”

“I need to fix it,” Stiles says seriously and tilts his head to the side, looking at Derek with furrowed brows, “Give’er what she wants, I don’t-I don’t wanna end up old and alone.”

Derek looks at Stiles and glances at the boy’s lips, “That might be the case, but you should **want** to do it in your own time, as well.”

Stiles stares at his partner for an indiscernible amount of time, the alcohol making it difficult to gauge how long ago he should’ve looked away, “She wants babies,” He says dejectedly.

“Do _you_?” Derek asks, unable to stop himself.

Stiles continues to stare at Derek for a moment and shakes his head sluggishly, “No,” He admits quietly.

“Have you told her about how you feel?” Derek asks, which is an ironically hilarious question coming from him.

Stiles turns to his side on the couch, the side of his face against the cushion as he looks at his partner, “Kinda,” He says, “I think-pretty sure she knows, but she-she… She still wants a big family and I can’t-” His expression turns pained, almost, “I don’t wanna family if my mom isn’t gonna be here to see my kids grow up, it doesn’t feel right.”

Derek swallows tightly, able to empathize on an unusually personal level, “I know what you mean.” He sighs and licks the bitter taste of beer from his lips, “You need to talk to her about it again.”

“Ugh,” Stiles grumbles and closes his eyes for a second, feeling a little lightheaded but still pleasantly numb, “Should just get her a puppy,” He says quietly and opens his eyes, looking up at his partner, “Who would’ve took-taken your uncle out of a nursing home?” He asks suddenly.

Derek shakes his head, slightly thrown by the question, but able to respond reasonably quick, “A distant relative, maybe,” Which is what he’s **hoped** for a while, but not what he actually thinks.

“Peter,” Stiles hums to himself and his line of thought is jumbled, eyes locked onto something in the distance passed Derek, “Peter Hale,” He muses, “Peter… Peter Kale, Peter Nail, Peter Pale…” He furrows his brows and for some reason, he thinks about Derek’s family’s almost wolf-like teeth and he shakes his head to himself, “Pale,” He repeats and then chuckles to himself, “That’s funny.”

Derek stiffens next to Stiles and he watches the boy nervously, it isn’t possible, Peter was comatose, people don’t just snap out of that state one day, not even a werewolf, “What’s funny?”

“P. Hale,” Stiles says and leans up a little bit, grunting under his breath as he puts his hand on Derek’s shoulder, looking him seriously in the eyes, “Pale,” He says again and wets his lips, “Pale wolf… Clomos Lykos, the teeth…” He says to himself, kind of mystified.

“Stilinski,” Derek says tentatively, his insides wrenching as he stares at the boy and if he’s **seriously** lucky, Stiles will just stop, or forget about what he’s saying in the morning, but he can’t ignore the facts, Stiles _has_ to be right. Which means that Peter’s alive, and in a position of power.

“A-A-And he just… Vanished,” Stiles says, mulling it over drunkenly, “Poof, gone. Disappeared, not even on the Hale file-and… That’s brilliant; erasing yourself to start again, but the-the _teeth_ ,” He says again and looks at Derek in confusion, “They’re not normal.”

“I’m aware,” Derek says numbly, his heart racing, even if Stiles forgets this, Derek is going to have to tell him sooner or later about everything - including Kate. If Peter’s the one pulling strings, which makes an uncomfortable amount of sense, then he needs to have his partner by his side, fully aware of the _actual_ threat.

“They’re not-they’re not normal,” Stiles says again and moves suddenly to get up, “I need paper, I-I need to write this down.” He almost topples over the coffee table, empty bottles clinking together, “The prints…” He looks at Derek, “Is Lahey done?”

Derek stands to catch Stiles and still him, “There were no fingerprints,” He says as he watches his partner, “Other than my own and yours, that’s all there was, not **any** other agent’s fingerprints - no one else touched them.”

“Bullshit,” Stiles says and stares up at Derek, feeling woozy, because wow he’s pretty high up, “That’s-It’s not possible, Boyd’s would be on it, too. I need…” He touches his partner’s arm and looks around behind himself, “I need paper, I don’t-I can’t forget all of this.”

“Whoever handled the case file could’ve easily covered their tracks,” Derek says as he lets Stiles go, “If they were the kind of person that’s been covering their tracks for a while, it would’ve been easy.”

Stiles damn near trips over his own feet as he moves from the living room, swaying into the dining room where his dad keeps all of his yellow notepads. By some miracle, he manages to sit down at the table and he pulls the paper closer to him, grabbing the pen laying on the surface.

His scrawl is normally pretty bad, but it’s atrocious now as he writes down Clomos Lykos, then pale wolf in parentheses underneath of it. And under that, he writes down Peter Hale and scribbles out the ‘eter’ and the ‘H’, over next to it he writes down ‘ _wolf teeth?_ ’, “Hale!”

Derek moves to Stiles and stares at the piece of paper, “What?”

Stiles lays the pen down on the pad and looks up at Derek, eyes glassy and wide, “Why are-the teeth… They’re like… They _look_ exactly like wolf teeth almost, I don’t understand.”

“It’s….” Derek looks away guiltily and shakes his head, “It’s difficult to explain, Stilinski.”

Stiles shakes his head as well and reaches out, hand balling up into a fist in Derek’s shirt as he tugs at him, trying to get his attention, “I’m not an idiot, Hale,” He says, glancing at the paper, then back up to his partner, “I can-can handle a difficult explanation.”

“We’re-my family-” Derek stammers and he covers Stiles’s hand with his own, turning to look the boy in the eyes, searching them desperately as he swallows and shakes his head slightly, “I want to tell you…”

Stiles feels the room beginning to spin the longer he looks up at Derek, so he tugs the shirt again, “Come down to my level before I barf,” He says, closing his eyes for a moment and shaking his head.

Derek kneels beside Stiles, staring at him tentatively as he pulls his partner’s hand from wrinkling the fabric of his shirt any more than he already has, but he keeps holding Stiles’s hand as he wets his lips, “I haven’t told anyone before.”

Stiles opens his eyes and looks at Derek, frowning as he squeezes the big, warm hand in his own, “You can tell me,” He whispers, and he doesn’t know why he does it, considering his partner’s right there and there’s no need for it.

Derek swallows and nods to try and convince himself even more, “You have to know, you’re in danger if you don’t-it’s not safe for you to be in the dark anymore.”

Stiles’s frown deepens and he sighs at Derek, “I’ve **been** in danger,” He says pointedly, “S-Someone wants me dead, remember?”

“It’s worse than that,” Derek tries to clarify, “These aren’t just humans you’re dealing with. They’re not limited in the way you are, they’re-” The more he thinks about it, the more concerned he becomes, suddenly realizing just _how_ the higher ups have been finding out about things, “They’re not **human** ,” He says as he stares at Stiles.

Stiles doesn’t really understand why he feels so disappointed, but the feeling washes over him as he stares at Derek incredulously. This, coming from the man who doesn’t believe in supernatural occurrences. And he can’t help but feel like his partner’s just messing with him because he’s drunk, “If you say they’re werewolves I’m gonna punch you in the fucking face,” He says in a moment of clarity.

“They’re werewolves.”

Stiles huffs out a breath and shakes his head, “Is this funny to you?” He asks, “Fucking with an inebriated believer?”

“Not in the slightest,” The werewolf says, straight-faced and staring Stiles in the eyes firmly, “I’m not playing around, Stilinski.”

“I asked you…” Stiles says and leans forward a little bit, resting his elbow on the edge of the chair, hand still holding his partner’s, “I fucking asked you if you believed in werewolves, straight up and-and you… You-you-you just… I’m so mad at you right now.”

“I couldn’t just **tell** you about it,” Derek responds somewhat desperately, “I’ve never told anyone, not even Boyd, why would I tell you now after all of this time?”

“It’s your uncle,” Stiles informs him abruptly and tamps down the urge to sleep, trying to push it away so he can discuss this more, “I know it is,” He says, “I-It has to be, Hale… I-I-I’m so… I’m really tired.”

Derek sighs and reaches out to Stiles, “Let’s get you back to the couch,” He says as he helps his partner up.

“Wait,” Stiles breathes out and bends down over the table long enough to scrawl out ‘werewolves exist’ before turning back to his partner, “Okay, I’m good. We’re gonna-um…” He leans against Derek as he walks back towards the living room, “We’re gonna catch him, right?” He asks, looking up at the older man.

“We don’t have another choice,” Derek says softly as he glances at the piece of paper, but helps Stiles to the couch instead and sits him down, taking the seat by him, “He’s dangerous where he is.”

Stiles glances up at the television, knowing that there are so many important things he needs to be doing right now, but all he can think about is how sleepy he is and how good the older man feels by his side. Eyelids heavy, his torso leans against Derek and he rests his head on the larger man’s shoulder.

“Happy New Year, Hale,” He utters lowly before promptly passing out.

Derek looks down at Stiles, turning to press his lips to the top of the boy’s head as he tries to think of **how** he’s going to handle his partner in the morning.

[MageStiles](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/) ϟ [Sparklinski](http://sparklinski.tumblr.com/)


	16. Poetry in Motion

_ We ask that you please read [THIS](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/private/74003355410/tumblr_mzpxlv83ba1rxjbyo) before reading on, at least the summary version up top. _

“You seriously should’ve just let my dad bring me back,” Stiles says insistently as he’s climbing out of his partner’s Camaro, glancing briefly at his house, “It’s not really a secret Heather doesn’t like you and if she knows you came up to Beacon Hills when I practically refused to spend Christmas with her, then she’s gonna be pissed.”

“I don’t see the point of two vehicles driving down when I can take you,” Derek says, rolling his eyes and climbing out of the car to move to the back and get Stiles’s things.

“I’m gonna have to lie to her,” Stiles says then and tries to grab his bags before Derek can, “Tell her I just ran into you and you offered me a ride back- _shit_ ,” His eyes widen and he swallows guiltily as he looks at the taller man, “I completely forgot about her birthday.”

Derek lifts his brows and closes the trunk after himself, moving to Stiles and offering his other arm to the boy, just in case, “She didn’t know already that you were going to miss it when she decided to stay?”

“I guess,” Stiles shrugs, looking at Derek’s arm but politely refusing to take it as he walks up the walkway slowly, “But I didn’t even call her to tell her happy birthday… I even forgot to call her on Christmas, she’s gonna kill me.”

Derek doesn’t respond back, he doubts she cares as much, considering she’s been seeing another man, and has probably been seeing him a _lot_ lately, given her free time without Stiles around.

“Maybe I can make it up to her,” Stiles mumbles to himself and pulls his house keys from his pocket, unlocking the front door, “We haven’t really been intimate in a long time,” And he’s not sure why he’s telling Derek this, but it feels safe, “Maybe I could just blow her mind with some really good head. Think it’d work?”

“Maybe,” Derek says mindlessly as he tries not to think too much about what the boy’s saying. It won’t convince her otherwise, no matter what he tries, she’s not interested, if she ever was. He watches Stiles, wishing he could tell his partner what’s been happening behind his back, but for now he has to keep things to himself as much as he can.

Stiles pushes the door open and walks in, all but taking the few bags off of Derek and throwing them down by the front door before pushing lightly at the larger man’s arm, “Thanks for bringing me back, dude, but you should go, seriously,” He says, swallowing as he looks at Derek, “Especially before she realizes you’re here.”

“She must have a difficult time realizing you work with me at all,” Derek says sarcastically, frowning at the smells wafting out from the deeper parts of the house and then Heather comes in from the other room, lifting her brows as she looks between them and crosses her arms.

Derek can smell the other man on her, the strong scent of his arousal and seed and he almost expresses his disgust before he can stop himself.

“You’re home,” Heather says flatly, but smiles at Stiles warily as she moves to him, kissing him on the cheek as she stares at Derek, “And he’s here, too.”

Stiles puts his hands on her waist and kisses her cheek as well, then smiles at Derek, “Yeah, I ran into him in Beacon Hills, he brought me back to save dad on gas money. Made sense seeing as he was coming back, too.”

Derek glances between them as he starts recognizing another scent underneath the man’s, something he catches nearly every day, and he’s _**more** than familiar with_. He blinks incredulously and stares at Heather before he turns and waves slightly at Stiles - and by waving, he lifts his hand about an inch or so, pointed towards his partner, “I’ll see you at work,” He says before he leaves.

“Yeah,” Stiles says and narrows his brows in confusion as he watches Derek leave, then moves to close the front door before looking at Heather again, “Any chance you’d take pity on a man for forgetting your birthday?”

“I guess I could consider it,” Heather says as she looks at Stiles’s things, “How is your dad?”

“He’s good,” Stiles tells her, slowly moving closer to her, “He missed you, wished you would’ve come with me,” He says, snagging her by her belt loops to pull her closer, “I missed you, too.”

“I missed you, too, baby,” Heather says, raising her brows at him, “When are you going back to work?”

“Monday morning,” Stiles answers and carefully backs her up against the door, the hands on her hips moving down just a little, “Wanna celebrate our Christmas now?”

_(Straight sex is srsly about to happen - it's not completely vital to the story, so if you wanna skip just jump down to the divider, I know a lot of you don't like Heather, so skipping this part you won't miss anything important)_

Heather blushes and blinks in surprise as she reaches out to his waist hesitantly, “Stiles..?”

Stiles reaches up and brushes his thumb along her jaw, fingers curling against the nape of her neck, “It’s been a long time,” He says, wetting his lips, “I miss touching you like I used to.”

Heather smiles slightly and shakes her head, still a little thrown off, “Have you been drinking?” She asks, leaning in to sniff his breath as she chuckles awkwardly.

“No,” Stiles responds and grins a little, chasing after her mouth for a quick kiss, “Am I not allowed to wanna have sex with my girl?” He asks, the hand left on her hip moving down between her thighs as he presses against her cunt through the denim.

“Stiles,” Heather gasps against his mouth and her hands move, wrapping her arms around his neck, “But what about your stab wound, that wouldn’t be too much, in your condition?”

Stiles kisses out along her cheek and jaw, then rests his lips against her ear as he moves both of his hands back to her hips again, “Not if you ride me,” He says, tugging her off of the door and smirking as he leads her to the living room. He sits down carefully on the couch, hands brushing appreciatively up and down her outer thighs before he starts unbuttoning her jeans.

Heather reaches down to help him, pushing her shorts down her thighs before climbing into his lap and staring at him as she reaches down to unbutton his pants, “It’s been a while,” She says breathlessly, leaning in and kissing him again, “You sure you know where everything goes?”

“Ha ha,” Stiles says dryly and kisses her back, nipping at her bottom lip and chin as he reaches up to palm at her left breast through her shirt.

“Mm, that was a serious question,” Heather says as she arches her chest into his palm, pushing open his jeans and reaching into his boxers, “I think I forgot what you feel like completely.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says then and moves his free hand to her panties, brushing his thumb over where her slit is before pulling the fabric aside and pressing the digit in between her folds, teasing her clit in slow circles, “I’ll make it up to you,” He breathes.

Heather moans and leans in, pulling his cock out and taking it in her hand as she kisses the soft skin by his jaw, “I miss this, I miss us.”

“I know, baby,” Stiles says and gasps when his length throbs in her hand, removing his thumb from her clit to make sure her panties are still pulled aside before tugging her closer, arms wrapping around her waist, “Put me in you,” He utters, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that he should be using a condom - but the part of him that wants to make her happy wins out.

“Wait,” Heather says hesitantly, “I-I haven’t been taking my birth control,” She stills as she looks at him, “Let me get a condom, real quick,” She starts to stand back up.

“No,” Stiles says suddenly and tightens his hold on her, “Don’t,” He shakes his head, giving her a pointed look before smiling softly.

Heather stops and looks at him, her eyes widening as she reaches up to touch his chest, her heart racing, “Are-are you sure?”

“It’s been ten years,” Stiles says and his reasoning doesn’t even feel justified to himself, but he says it anyway, “I think it’s time. Come on,” He glances down and wets his lips when he sees her slick glistening in her blonde curls, “Put me in you.”

Heather nods slightly, reaching down as she shifts her knees on the couch and feels the head of his cock brush against her before she sits down, rolling her hips as she looks him in the eyes and leans in to kiss him quickly.

Stiles whimpers against Heather’s lips when the heat surrounds him and it takes almost everything he has not to buck up into her. It feels good, the skin on skin, especially after ten years of latex separating them - it isn’t something that they do often. He keeps one arm wrapped around her waist and pushes his right hand up under her shirt, teasing one of her nipples through the lace of her bra.

Heather brushes her nails down Stiles’s arm, biting her lip as she starts moving atop him, her hips rolling the length inside her as she lets out a soft, pleased moan.

Stiles pinches the little nub once it’s hard and grunts his contentment before resting his face against her chest, removing his hand to hug her smaller body close.

“You’re not hurting at all?” Heather asks, still wary of having sex while he’s healing. She slides her hand under his shirt, fingers pressing over the soft muscles of his stomach as she smiles and leans in to whisper in his ear, “Agent Stilinski?”

“Oh God,” Stiles mumbles out squeakily and swallows, his grip tightening on her as he stares at Heather in a daze, “No-No I’m not, you feel so fucking good.”

Heather giggles and moans against his ear as she continues moving, “So do you,” She says as she reaches up, her nails scratching lightly over his right nipple as her other hand runs through his hair, “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, every night, waiting for you to come home.”

“You can’t just say things like that,” Stiles groans out and his palms move to her ass, squeezing the soft flesh and urging her hips up and down, “I’m weak, you’re gonna kill me.”

“You look like you can handle yourself, _agent_ ,” Heather says lowly, biting Stiles’s earlobe and moving a little faster as her thumb rolls his hard nipple around underneath it.

“Fuck,” Stiles thrusts up into her without thinking about it, but he knows he’s going to regret it later when the pleasure has all but faded, “ _Heather_.”

Heather gasps in surprise and starts biting his skin lightly, pushing his shirt up and running her palms up his stomach and chest as she pushes down in his lap and grinds against him, “Louder.”

Stiles moves his hands to actually dip down into her panties in order to touch her skin, blunt nails digging in and when she grinds against him he obliges, “H-Heather!” He cries out, all but pulling her down onto him forcefully.

Heather smiles as she watches him, leaning down to kiss along his chest, her legs shaking as his cock shifts inside her and her hands reach out to either side of his head, holding the back of the couch firmly as she arches her body against him.

With his head back against the cushion, Stiles stares at Heather with his mouth gaping, the sensation almost so foreign he feels paralyzed by it, “Babe-Baby,” He tries to say, brows furrowing as he bites his bottom lip and pushes up into her, feet firmly on the floor for support as he fucks her faster, chasing after his orgasm.

Heather gasps as she tries to keep the timing right between them, her eyes widening and she removes one hand from the couch to run through the back of his hair, “Oh, fuck,” She breathes as she stares at him, her legs tightening together as she scratches her nails along his scalp, “Stiles.”

“Kiss me,” Stiles demands breathlessly, chest heaving as he groans and slams up into her, back twinging, but it’s not enough to keep him from coming, “Now, kiss me now,” He says with a rushed breath.

Heather kisses him at once, her arms wrapping around his neck as his shirt drops back down between them and her hair falls out of the messy bun she’d had it put up in.

Stiles can feel his cock throb in the tight heat, come spilling into her as he kisses back almost desperately, surprised at himself with how much tension he feels ease out of him then. He reaches up and touches the side of her face, then runs his hand through her long hair as he gasps softly.

Heather slows atop him, breaking the kiss as her chest rises and falls quickly and she smiles, leaning in to rest her head on his shoulder, “Well then…” She says breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Stiles responds vaguely, closing his eyes as he wraps his arms around her loosely, turning his head some to kiss her forehead, “I love you,” He says, the words feeling empty on his tongue.

“I love you, too,” Heather says back, not meaning the words in the slightest as she stays still, breathing and leaning up to kiss his neck.

* * *

( **MAJOR WARNING, do not dismiss:** If you've read the list I provided at the beginning of this fic, then you know what to expect, but still, please be wary. The boy's first big case is coming, and it's **very graphic** , **body/corpses** that are **mutilated** , bodies of **young teenage girls** , gross creeper **semen**. If this already is making you turn yer head, PLEASE read that warning, I wasn't kidding. Go [here](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/private/86501106338/tumblr_n5za6fFKwb1rxjbyo) fer a further, in depth list of what's to come in the rest of this chapter. Do NOT venture on if you haven't, if you come crying to me and bitching about it, I told you, and I've tried to stop you as much as possible)

Derek climbs back into the car and hands the drink over to Stiles along with his happy meal as he closes his door quietly, “Anything exciting happen?” He asks sarcastically.

Stiles snorts at Derek and rolls his eyes as he takes his happy meal greedily, reaching into it and grabbing some fries before stuffing them into his mouth, “This,” He says around a mouthful, gesturing to the happy meal, “This is as exciting as it gets.” He licks the salt off of his fingers and groans, “Oh my God, dude, I love you. There’s no way Heather would ever willingly buy me a happy meal.”

Derek swallows tightly as he stares at Stiles and tries not to let the words and the _sounds_ get to him, he turns back to the motel and shrugs, “You’ve been sitting in here for over three hours, how’s your back?” He asks then, aware how often he seems like a broken record.

“I’d probably be about a hundred percent right about now if I wouldn’t of um-” Stiles takes a drink of his soda and sits it in the cup holder, taking his toy out of his happy meal and sitting it aside, “Uh, exerted myself more than necessary during intercourse.”

Derek blinks and narrows his brows, “You shouldn’t be moving around much, recovering is vital if you wanna be out in the field.”

“It was the first time I’ve had sex in like, almost a year, Hale, cut me some slack,” Stiles says and pops one of his chicken nuggets into his mouth, “It was needed.”

“A year?” Derek looks at Stiles then, honestly surprised, “Don’t you have a partner that can help with that?” He asks before he realizes he’s messed up on the wording.

Stiles almost chokes on his chicken nugget when he starts laughing, cheeks heating as he looks at the older man with wide, amused eyes, “Well, if I would’ve known you were interested, big guy…” He jokes, trying to sober himself up.

Derek frowns in annoyance, “Shut up, Stilinski. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant your **life** partner, your supposed ‘girlfriend’. There’s no excuse for ‘almost a year’,” He doesn’t even like saying it, it tastes wrong in his mouth - he’d rather ask Stiles what comes after ‘big guy’.

Stiles quirks a brow at Derek’s tone and his smile falters some, “What do you mean by ‘supposed’?” He asks in confusion, shaking his head, “She is, without a doubt, my girlfriend… And when you’ve been with someone as long as we’ve been together, distance happens, people get distracted.”

“Distracted for a year,” Derek points out, “That’s what I mean by ‘supposed’.”

Stiles pft’s Derek and rolls his eyes, “Like **you** could keep the heat alive in a relationship after ten years, it’s not as easy as it sounds.”

“Heat isn’t the problem for me,” Derek responds shortly.

Stiles narrows his eyes, because he doesn’t exactly understand what his partner means by that, but he shrugs it off, “Whatever, all I’m saying is is that sometimes couples go through dry spells and it was due time I actually got off with something other than my hand. Pulling a stitch or two was worth it.”

Derek shakes his head and frowns when his phones starts ringing, he answers quickly, giving Stiles a pointed look, “Hale.”

Stiles stills with fries half in his mouth as he watches his partner curiously, wondering who’s on the other line and what they want.

Derek swallows tightly as he listens to the woman on the other side and glances around, “We’re on a stakeout right now, it’s not far,” He says as he nods, “Yeah we’ll pick it up.”

He ends the call and starts the car, looking at Stiles, “Looks like we get off easy.”

“I normally do,” Stiles says before his brain to mouth filter catches it and he nods at the phone, “What’s up?”

“Suspected homicide,” Derek responds, trying to ignore Stiles’s comment as he takes off from the spot they’ve been parked, “Three houses from mine.”

“Uh,” Stiles’s eyes widen and he furrows his brows at Derek, “That’s kinda creepy. What happened?”

Derek shakes his head, “We’ll be the first on scene, guess we’ll find out when we get there,” He says as he turns onto the main road, “The woman in the house next to mine called it in, she heard someone leaving the house and knew that the family that lives there was on vacation, leaving their sixteen year old daughter at the house for the week.”

“The daughter the suspected victim?” Stiles asks, because seeing a body of an older woman is one thing, but he’s not sure how he’ll handle someone that young.

“Yeah,” Derek says grimly, looking at his partner, “You good?”

“Guess we’ll find out when we get there,” Stiles repeats Derek’s words and frowns a little.

Derek sighs and nods, “You’ve gotta handle things like this, there’s not much choice otherwise, unless you wanna work at Walmart. Probably best you get use to it early.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles says and nods, “But it’s not like I can just flip a switch and turn my humanity off, shit like this is probably going to bother me for a while.”

“You’ll get to where I am soon enough,” Derek says as he pulls into the driveway of the house, it’s almost the end of the day already, so the street lights around are on and he doesn’t like going in this close to night, even **if** he can see in the dark, “It doesn’t take much to become desensitized with things like it.”

“If you say so,” Stiles says and unbuckles his seat belt, putting his happy meal on the floor as he takes his gun from his holster and climbs out.

Derek does the same, locking the doors as he moves to the house gun in hand and listens closely, hearing nothing more than the appliances of the house. Still, as far as Stiles is concerned, there could be someone inside, so he keeps his gun at the ready and tries the door, narrowing his brows when he realizes it’s unlocked, “Ready?”

Stiles nods shortly and raises his gun, glancing nervously at his partner as he takes the initiative to open the door tentatively with his foot.

At once, a sound starts up loudly from one of the back rooms of the house and Derek reaches out to Stiles, “Wait,” He says and moves inside first.

The music is loud, even for human ears and it’s almost deafening to Derek as a man starts singing slowly a song he’s unfamiliar with.

_‘When I see my baby, what do I see,’_

Stiles’s brows notch together worriedly and he glances to Derek in confusion.

_‘Poetry,’_

Derek looks at Stiles as well, glancing at the broken glass spread across the living room floor, the lights off and he steps forward slowly.

_‘Poetry in motion,’_

“Be careful,” Stiles whispers and reaches out with one hand to touch his partner’s elbow in concern.

“Just keep by my side,” Derek says firmly as he tightens his hold on his gun. If he didn’t know better, he’d leave Stiles at the front door, but he knows there’s no one **alive** in the house, like he always does.

_‘Walking by my side, her lovely locomotion,’_

Stiles nods and follows Derek cautiously, turning out at an angle by his partner’s side as he keeps his gun held high, looking around the room warily.

_‘Keep my eyes open wide.’_

Derek checks the front room carefully, looking around at the sign of struggle, but there’s no blood in the room, he can smell it though, wafting from the back, but it’s procedure to check in order so he walks to the right door into the kitchen and glances around.

_‘Poetry in motion, see her gently sway, a wave out on the ocean could never move that way.’_

“Hale,” Stiles says softly, hands trembling lightly at the feeling in the pit of his stomach, “I don’t like this.”

“Me neither,” Derek mutters as he joins Stiles’s side again and motions to the long hall, going first, barely a step before Stiles.

_‘I love every movement,’_

Stiles takes in a deep breath and tries to steady his gun hand, turning to watch behind them every so often as he follows Derek.

_‘There’s nothing I would change,’_

Derek checks the first room, a bedroom on the left, probably a younger kid, younger than ten, but it’s empty and clear, so he turns to the next, which is your average bathroom, still nothing.

_‘She doesn’t need improvement,’_

“I need a new job,” Stiles utters under his breath, but he knows it’s bullshit, because he loves his job. It’s just that this particular scenario is severely unnerving.

_‘She’s much too nice to rearrange.’_

Derek checks the next door, a closet, and gives Stiles a wary look because, for the last two rooms in the back, he needs to be prepared.

_‘Poetry in motion, dancing close to me,’_

Stiles nods at his partner and lets out a tremulous breath, “I’m good.”

_‘A flower of devotion,’_

Derek moves to the room the music is playing in and it’s dark, so he reaches out ‘blindly’ with one hand to turn the light on.

_‘A swaying gracefully.’_

Stiles moves close to Derek once the older man turns the light on and looks passed him, grimacing when he sees the girl’s nude body on the floor and he has to turn his head away for a moment, “Jesus Christ.”

Derek narrows his brows as he stares at the body, her chest opened up and the first thing he notices is the potted plant positioned on the ground between her legs and he looks at the trail of blood leading to the bed where her heart’s been placed atop the sheets near the pillows. A simple homicide is one thing, but this is specific.

Stiles waits until he thinks he can handle the scene again and looks back at the girl’s body, feeling his stomach roll a little bit at how gruesome it all is, “Who’d do something like this?” He asks stupidly.

Derek shakes his head and looks around the bedroom, stepping passed the body and looking at the cd player and the cord stretching from it to the wall leading towards the living room.

He turns back to the girl and narrows his eyes as he observes how **unusually** clean she is, no makeup, her hair pins placed aside, fake nails removed from her fingers. Other than the hole in her chest, there’s no other clear physical indication of how the killer took her life.

“It’s specific,” He finally voices aloud and, other than the blood he can smell, the bath soap, and the strong scent of death, he picks up two smells that bother him - arousal, and seed, clearly spattered across her neck.

He walks back to Stiles and leaves the room finally, “Come on, you don’t need to keep looking for now.”

“We need to call it in,” Stiles says, still grimacing as he turns back the other way to go down the hall again, lowering his gun a little bit finally.

Derek nods in agreement and reaches out for Stiles’s arm as the annoying song continues to play in the other room, “Are you okay?”

Stiles doesn’t really answer the older man’s question as he looks back at him, “How does something like that not bother you?” He asks and shakes his head, trying to stay near his partner.

“I’ve seen worse,” Derek admits, his thumb moving soothingly over Stiles’s biceps, “It’s not often we get something so… _Calculated_.” He looks to the last room and pushes the door open to check it, just as procedure, “He’s not here, you can put your gun away if you want.”

The hand on Stiles’s arm helps calm him down and he nods subtly, flipping the safety on before putting the weapon back in it’s holster, “I still don’t like it,” He admits.

“No one likes it,” Derek says, his hand moving to Stiles’s back, “Call it in, I’m gonna check the bathroom again, I’ll just be a second.”

“Be careful,” Stiles says again and moves towards the front door as he pulls his phone out, dialing it in as his partner looks the bathroom over.

Derek checks the tub, looking at the inside and someone’s either showered or taken a bath recently. He kneels down and sniffs slightly, catching the scent of blood and he turns to the curtain, noticing a smear of red across the inside, about three feet from the ground. He leaves the bathroom and looks down at the disturbed carpet on either side of the hall, “Stilinski.”

After hanging up, Stiles’s head snaps in the direction of Derek’s voice and he narrows his brows before moving to his partner, “What’s up?”

Derek motions to the floor, “She was dragged, alive, into the bathroom,” He points out the spots where her feet lifted themselves from the carpet and he shakes his head, “This wasn’t someone that knew her, my best guess is he had, at most, talked to her once or twice. Anyone close to her wouldn’t have had to fight her from the front room, she would’ve been deeper into the house if she’d **let** them in.”

“Why’d the perp drag her to the bathroom?” Stiles asks and sidesteps Derek to glance into the bathroom, “There’s not a lot of blood in there.”

“He bathed her,” Derek says as he watches Stiles, “Probably after he killed her. He knew what he was doing.”

“You think he was trying to wash away any possible evidence?” Stiles asks and looks up at Derek, propping his hands on his hips.

Derek shakes his head, “I think he was cleaning away waste, and washing her makeup from her face. I doubt he cares much for evidence, he came across her neck…”

Stiles’s mouth pops open and he pulls a face before shaking his head, “Sick fuck.”

“Serial killer,” Derek clarifies, “I’m assuming, but it’s my best guess. It’s too specific to be just a crime of passion or rage. It was executed thoughtfully.”

“Still a sick fuck,” Stiles grumbles to himself and moves passed Derek again, heading back out towards the front door, “Do we wanna wait in here or can we step outside until backup gets here?”

“There’s no one else in the house, it’s safe to wait outside for now,” Derek says, walking to Stiles and opening the front door for him. He’s tired of the strong scent of blood and semen already, he’s more than willing to get out for some fresh air.

Stiles steps out of the house and looks around, listening to the quiet buzz of the street lamps as he moves to Derek’s car, propping his ass against the hood of it. His heart is still racing slightly and he feels nauseated, and even after years of being an agent, he doesn’t ever expect to be desensitized to something like this - not like his partner.

Derek walks up to Stiles, watching him closely as he puts his hands in his pockets, “Not an easy image to get out of your head, is it?” He asks, trying to be sympathetic.

Stiles shakes his head and crosses his arms loosely, kicking at a pebble on the sidewalk before looking up at his partner, “Nope.”

“The first time I saw a body on the job,” Derek says as he sits by Stiles, “Was a five year old boy, my first day.”

Stiles watches Derek, head turning even as the older man takes a place next to him, “That sucks,” He says, frowning at his partner, “Jobs normally get me pumped, you know? But this?…” He sighs quietly and scratches his chin, “Like, my heart’s still racing, but I feel like shit.”

“It’s not always the people that deserve to die, that do,” Derek responds and swallows tightly, “It isn’t always ideal, that’s why it’s a job.”

“I know,” Stiles says weakly and looks away finally, resting his palms against the car, “It’s just… It’s gonna take me a while to get used to it.”

Derek nods in understanding, “Took me a while, too,” He glances down at his hands, still as calm as he’d been when they were sitting in the car during the stakeout, “It’s not easy seeing the younger ones, still.”

“Does it worry you? Something like this happening so close to your house?” Stiles asks then, but he glances down the other end of the street instead of meeting Derek’s eyes.

“I’m not a teenage girl that wears makeup,” Derek responds shortly.

“That doesn’t mean jack shit,” Stiles responds and lifts his head at once to stare at his partner, “I get that you’re a big guy who hits the gym a lot, and you could probably defend yourself if need be. But shit can happen, you never know.”

“Like my family being burned alive while I was at school?” Derek asks rhetorically and shakes his head, “Like Boyd being murdered, or you being stabbed in the back? It happens all the time, Stilinski, no it doesn’t worry me.”

“You should still consider staying somewhere else for a while,” Stiles says, eyes still locked onto Derek’s face, “As a matter of fact, you should just consider moving altogether. This is the shittiest neighborhood, you turn a corner and literally see drug deals going on. It’s not safe.”

Derek raises a brow, “It’s more safe than you think. I moved into the house I live in because of the people, not because of what happens around it. The fact that a serial killer targeted a girl from the same neighborhood means next to nothing.”

Stiles presses his lips into a firm line and shakes his head at the older man’s stubbornness after a moment, “Whatever.”

“I moved here seven years ago,” Derek says as he ignores the boy’s attitude, “I checked every house on the road and near the road before I even considered it. It’s not the **only** place I checked, and the price wasn’t a motive.”

“Okay,” Stiles says abruptly, just wanting Derek to stop talking about it already, “But if you end up dead, I’m gonna find a way to resuscitate your ass and then kill you myself.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “Shut up, Stilinski.”

[MageStiles](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/) ϟ [Sparklinski](http://sparklinski.tumblr.com/)


	17. Spill It All

Being back in the same bar he’d been in the night he got stabbed should be more nerve wracking than it actually is for Stiles. His excitement outweighs the dread and given the odd looks Scott’s been giving him, there’s no way both his best friend and Hale don’t know somethings up.

He sits the expensive shots of whiskey down on the table, pushing one to Derek and one to Scott, face hurting from smiling so much as he looks between them anxiously.

“Okay,” Scott says finally, unable to take it any longer, because it’s unlike Stiles to be so smiley, “What’s wrong with you?”

“I can’t just wanna take my two best buds out for a fun night?” Stiles asks, completely unable to keep from grinning from ear to ear as he bites nervously at his thumb nail.

Derek narrows his brows as he watches his partner skeptically, “Considering we’ve came here **once** before… No.”

Stiles tries to look at Derek sternly, but he can’t, “Okay. Okay, okay, okay,” He flails a little bit and scoots closer to the table, leaning in some, “I have something I wanted to tell you guys. Well, it’s more like an announcement of sorts… And then I have something to ask you guys.”

Derek looks at Scott then, raising a brow and knocking back his shot, it won’t do anything, but he figures it’ll stop his nose from burning a little.

“And?” Scott drawls the word out and narrows his eyes curiously as he looks at Stiles.

“And,” Stiles says simply and reaches into his pocket, procuring a little velvet box before opening it and sitting it on the table in front of them, “I’m gonna ask Heather to marry me.”

Derek frowns as he turns back to Stiles, his insides twisting sickly and he can’t help the response that spills out next, “Why?”

Stiles chuckles nervously and furrows his brows at Derek, “What do you mean ‘why’? I’ve been with her ten years, things have been awesome lately…” He searches Derek’s face, “I love her,” He says emptily, “Asking her to marry me is… Logical.”

“That’s not a reason you marry someone,” Derek says as he lets out a huff of breath, “That’s a reason to buy health care.”

Scott looks at the ring and then sits back in the booth, otherwise silent as he raises his brows subtly at the way Derek’s acting.

“If you love someone and know you’re gonna spend the rest of your life with them, why not marry them?” Stiles asks, not understanding why Derek can’t just be happy for him.

Derek watches Stiles closely, “You don’t want to have kids, Stilinski, you’ve told me yourself. And after ten years of being with her, the only reason you’re deciding to marry her now is because you’re _comfortable_ , and you don’t want that to change.”

“Why would I want to change anything if I’m perfectly hap-huh?” Stiles turns more towards Derek, smile effectively gone, “I don’t remember telling you anything about not wanting kids. It’s a moot point, anyway, considering we’re trying for one,” He says, “I’m gonna ask her to marry me, Hale, and you’re one of my best friends. I want you to be happy for me.”

“You told me on new years that you don’t want children because of your mother,” Derek responds and shakes his head, “I can’t be **happy** for you when I know you’re making yourself uncomfortable by marrying her.”

Scott’s eyes widen and he continues to stay out of it, opting for reaching for his shot and downing it quickly.

Stiles swallows and shakes his head at Derek, “You don’t know me as well as you think you do,” He says, frowning at his partner, “It’s the American dream, who doesn’t want that?”

“The American dream is getting out of debt,” Derek says as he stands up, “McCall,” He nods to Scott before taking out his wallet and putting down a fifty before leaving the table.

Stiles glances at Scott for a moment, completely fucking bewildered from Derek’s reaction, “I’ll be right back,” He says numbly and gets up as well, moving quickly to catch up with Derek.

He reaches out and grabs the taller man by the arm to stop him, “Just fucking wait a minute, Hale.”

Derek turns to look down at Stiles, “ **What** , Stilinski?”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Stiles asks harshly as he stares dejectedly up at his partner, “I get maybe not being enthralled, but it’s my life and it’s my decision. Friends normally fucking stand by their friends, even if they disagree with something.”

Derek shakes his head, “It’s not a friend’s job to stand behind and watch as you make yourself miserable,” He says as he stares at Stiles, “I’m not supporting this decision because it isn’t right. I’ve seen the way you are when you say you love her - you **don’t**.”

“Fuck you,” Stiles responds almost at once, “You’re not in my head, you don’t fucking know… I love her and my decision to ask her to marry me is final. I wanted you to be one of my best men, but considering you’re acting like a goddamn caveman, I’ll find someone else.”

“Good,” Derek says, raising his brows, “I’ve been as involved with the lie of your relationship as I’m comfortable with.” He turns and walks out of the bar then, balling his hands into fists as he moves to his car.

Stiles props his hands on his hips for a moment as he watches Derek leave and then snorts to himself, rubbing a hand over his mouth before he turns to go back to the table, “I fucking hate him,” He mutters under his breath, even though he can’t entirely convince himself of it.

* * *

Stiles doesn’t let Derek’s reaction get to him, he shrugs it off and continues on as planned.

He gets everything ready when Heather’s at her book club meeting and sets the mood, a vast array of different sized white candles leading from the front door to the dining room, some even on the table. After setting the home cooked food out, he starts practically throwing the rose petals everywhere. It’s cliche and been done to death, but he doesn’t care, and he doesn’t suspect that Heather will either.

When he hears her car door shut out front, he looks around frantically to make sure everything looks okay, then straightens his tie and waits as the anticipation builds.

Heather walks through the front door and stops as she looks around at the candles, her eyes widening in confusion as she steps in and closes the door behind herself. She kicks off her sandals and sets down her purse and her keys on the nightstand before walking into the dining room, stopping when she sees Stiles and she narrows her brows.

“Uh, hey baby… What’s going on?”

Stiles smiles at her confused reaction and slowly steps closer, smoothing his hand down the front of his shirt before stopping in front of her, “We’ve been together for a long time,” He starts and takes one of her hands, smoothing his thumb over the skin, “So long that it’s easier to come up with a memory with you in it than without…” He looks at her seriously, “And that’s how I want the rest of our lives to be, I want all of my memories to involve you.”

“Stiles…”

“Heather,” Stiles says affectionately and smiles slowly before dropping down to one knee in front of her, “I should’ve done this years ago,” He explains and shrugs halfheartedly, “I’m an idiot for not doing it sooner.”

He pulls the little velvet box out of his pocket with one hand, opening it and offering it to her, “I love you so much a-and I… I can’t imagine my life without you in it… Will you marry me?”

Heather lets out a soft breath and looks around the room again, at the petals and the candles and she pulls back, shaking her head as she meets Stiles’s eyes, “No.”

It feels like there’s a vice clamping down on his lungs and heart, and he doesn’t understand at all, so Stiles furrows his brows together, “What?” He asks softly, still down on his knee.

“No,” Heather repeats as she wraps one arm around her waist, her other hand pressing to her chest to touch the necklace hanging there as she shakes her head again, “I don’t want to marry you, Stiles.”

Stiles looks at the ring in his hand and frowns, suddenly feeling short of breath as he forces himself back up to his feet, “Why?” He asks, arms limp at his sides as he stares at her.

Heather feels her eyes sting with tears and she swallows as she looks up at him, “I wanna break up with you.”

“B-But… But why?”

“You and I both know that this hasn’t been working for a while now,” Heather tries to explain, “Even before you started working for the FBI. I thought that if I supported your choices that things would change, but they didn’t. We don’t love each other anymore.”

“I do,” Stiles says defensively and moves to her, taking her hands again as he pleads with his eyes, “I love you, baby-don’t… Don’t do this, it can work, okay?”

“I don’t want it to work,” Heather says as she pulls back again, “You don’t love me, Stiles. You want to, but you don’t anymore, and I… I’ve known for a while that you haven’t. It’s been the same for me, I-I’ve been seeing someone else.”

“Behind my back?” Stiles asks and his voice cracks, eyes stinging with tears as he looks at her, “Why would you do that? You don’t just… You don’t just throw away ten years like they’re nothing, Heather.”

“It wasn’t planned,” Heather responds, raising her voice, “At first it was just… We were friends, and he was close, and nice, and you were gone. Even when you were home, it was like you were miles away. It didn’t become serious until a couple months ago. He loves me, and I love him, and I’m… I’m pregnant with **his** baby.”

Stiles lets out a mixture of a surprised breath and a quiet sob before covering his mouth with his fist, eyes wide and watery as he stares at her. Ten years of his life wasted, _gone_ , like none of it meant anything at all.

Heather reaches out to touch his arm tentatively, “I’m sorry,” She says as she shakes her head, “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I-I just needed someone. Someone that actually wanted me. It’s okay, Stiles. You’re just as over this relationship as I am, it was a nice dream… But I think that’s all it ever was.”

Stiles pulls away from her and throws the ring roughly, not bothering to watch as it hits the far wall, “Ten years!” He exclaims, voice shaking, “Ten fucking years, Heather! And you couldn’t even have the decency of telling me before **now**?”

“Don’t fucking blame me, Stiles,” Heather responds, raising her voice even louder, “You’re just as much to blame. I waited for you for **ten years** to marry me, to have kids. That’s what I wanted and you knew it, and you just strung me along. I kept thinking it might happen, maybe this year, maybe next year, and it **never** happened.”

“I might have been distant,” Stiles says and clenches his fist, turning in a fit of rage to knock the food and glasses off of the dining room table, “But I was never fucking unfaithful to you!”

Heather watches him, not even jumping when he starts breaking things, “You might as well have. With the way things have been, lately, it’s like you don’t even see me. We hadn’t had sex in a year, you’d bury yourself in your work and you’d ignore me. How is that **not** unfaithful, when you leave for two weeks and you turn off your cell phone, you never call back. Not keeping promises, it might not be sex… But it’s neglectful.”

“I hate you,” Stiles spits out then, sniffling and wiping his eyes, “I fucking hate you. Ten years of my life, completely fucking wasted on you. I should’ve known you’d stray sooner or later, seeing as how we got together was you wanting my virginity.”

“It was a fair trade,” Heather says and doesn’t even care about the bitter things he’s saying, “You’re trying to tell your **girlfriend** of ten years that I was the reason you wasted all of that time.”

“Trying to tell my _ex_ -girlfriend,” Stiles corrects her and shrugs, throwing his hands out, “So what? What now, Heather? Let me guess, you expect me to move out?”

“You barely live here as it is, might as well make it official.”

“Fine,” Stiles clenches his jaw and brushes passed her, moving to the front door to let himself out, “I’ll send Scott for my things,” He tells her flatly, wiping his eyes again as he slams the door shut behind himself before moving to the sidewalk.

Scott’s probably one of the worst people to call right now and not because he wouldn’t be someone good to console in, but because he knows Lydia would probably reem him a new asshole - and that’s not what he needs right now.

It’s late and he’s not particularly fond of going into the bad side of town, but Derek is all he really has right now. He’d been right about everything, too. _Of fucking course he was._ Stiles just didn’t want to see it, though.

He pulls his keys from his pocket and moves to his jeep, starting it up and peeling from the driveway for a little bitter emphasis before heading to his partner’s. He doesn’t call, either, because he doesn’t want to risk having Derek tell him that he can’t come over.

Stiles drives in silence, window down and cool air blowing in on his face as he tries to get the tears to stop. It almost blurs his vision completely, but he manages to make it there without causing some kind of pile up.

He parks behind Derek’s car, taking the keys from the ignition before climbing out and making his way to the older man’s door, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes once more to look more presentable, then he knocks. He's surprised when the door opens almost immediately and Derek looks down at him warily.

“Are you okay?” He asks in concern.

Stiles knows his eyes are probably puffy and he gets the concern, he really does, but he isn’t sure he can answer Derek honestly. So he wipes the tip of his nose with the side of his forefinger and nods to the inside of his partner’s house before meeting his eyes, “Care if I crash on your couch for a few nights?” He asks lowly.

“Take the bed,” Derek says and moves from the doorway, motioning for Stiles to come inside.

Stiles nods slowly and walks into the house, patting the taller man weakly on the arm as he passes him, “Thanks, man.”

Derek nods and shuts the door after his partner, moving back to the couch and sitting down as he watches the younger man, it’s probably best he doesn’t press, whatever’s got Stiles upset can wait until he’s ready to talk about it, Derek’s not really in any rush.

Stiles sits down in the recliner, but he stays perched on the end of it as he reaches up to loosen his tie, briefly meeting Derek’s eyes, “I dunno what I’m gonna do,” He admits shakily, trying to swallow down the sobs threatening to escape his throat.

Derek narrows his brows as he looks away out of respect, figuring that Stiles probably doesn’t want to be observed too closely in such a state, “You’ll think of something,” He tries to offer his support.

Stiles leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, rubbing a hand over his face and up through his hair as he shakes his head, “Maybe, maybe not,” He says, bottom lip trembling slightly.

“I got too comfortable… And now I’m fucked. I don’t-” He stops and pushes his fingertips to his eyes, “I don’t even have somewhere to live, Hale. I’m technically homeless.”

“No you’re not,” Derek says as he lets out a breath, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what happened, especially considering he knew beforehand that she was cheating on him, “You can stay here.”

“It won’t be for long,” Stiles tries to reassure his partner, trying to calm himself with a deep breath, “I’ll start looking tomorrow.”

“Take your time. You’re welcome to stay.”

Stiles stares at Derek and smiles sadly after a moment, “Thanks,” He mutters and stands up, moving to the hallway, but he stops before going into Derek’s bedroom and turns to look back at the older man, “You were right,” He admits weakly, “Sorry I yelled at you.”

“You didn’t know better,” Derek says dismissively, “I didn’t wanna be right.” It’s a lie, but in a way it’s kind of not; while he didn’t want Stiles and Heather together, in general, the last thing he wants is to see his partner in pain. He feels a bit guilty for being relieved that it’s over, though, “Get some sleep.”

Stiles nods and lifts his hand in a vague gesture before sauntering into the older man’s room. He doesn’t even bother to close the door or to dress down, he just falls face first against the mattress and closes his eyes, trying to will it all to just be a bad dream.

[MageStiles](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/) ϟ [Sparklinski](http://sparklinski.tumblr.com/)


	18. Doomed To Repeat

_ We ask that you please read [THIS](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/private/74003355410/tumblr_mzpxlv83ba1rxjbyo) before reading on, at least the summary version up top. _

Stiles furrows his brows at the way his chest aches and rubs his face against the sheet, reluctant to wake up, but the smell of bacon is almost too promising to ignore.

The second he opens his eyes he remembers what happened the night before and he groans to himself, thumping his face against the bed and stopping suddenly, breathing in the thick musk he’s come to associate with Derek. The scent marginally alleviates some of the ache, but unfortunately it doesn’t make it stop altogether.

He pushes up then and grunts softly before standing, reaching up to try and fix his hair, but inevitably all he does is make it worse. Stiles meanders out of the bedroom and sniffs the air, humming softly as he follows the smell and the sound of grease popping.

He stops when he reaches the kitchen’s doorway and he almost has to do a double take, because his partner isn't wearing a shirt. He’d heard rumors, sure, but he’d always just thought Lydia was being over-dramatic about how ripped Derek is.

“M-Morning,” He says awkwardly, immediately averting his eyes elsewhere.

Derek glances at Stiles as he flips the bacon and nods, “Morning,” He responds as he stirs the eggs in the pan mindlessly.

Stiles moves to the table and sits down, eying Derek’s pajama bottoms curiously before laying his arms on the surface of the table, dropping his head down and narrowing his brows when he wiggles his toes, “Did you take my shoes off last night?”

Derek licks his lips and prepares a plate quickly for Stiles, “You tracked in dirt,” He says dismissively before moving to his partner and setting down the plate and a fork in front of him before returning to the stove.

“Oh,” Stiles says and looks at the plate of food warily, mouth popping open when he notices the tattoo on Derek’s back. He wants to say something like ‘nice ink’, but he doesn’t bother, figuring that it’d be odd to comment on his partner’s appearance so early in the morning.

He lifts his head up and grabs the fork, then promptly digs in, “Thanks.”

Derek pours a glass of milk as well then and sets it by Stiles’s plate before mixing more eggs as he turns down the stove.

Stiles tries to keep his eyes on his food, but the bare skin on display distracts him and he lets himself observe quietly when Derek has his back turned. He mindlessly goes to take a bite of eggs and pokes himself in the cheek with his fork, “Ouch, **fuck** ,” He curses, flinching as he rubs the spot.

“Careful, it’s hot,” Derek responds with his back still turned as he begins preparing his own plate.

“Yeah,” Stiles mutters to himself, eyes lifting back up to rake down over Derek’s back, “It is,” He says vaguely.

Derek frowns at the comment and turns off the heat for the burners, setting the plates on his side of the table and sitting down across from Stiles, glancing at his partner as he starts eating, “McCall’s getting some of your things brought over so you can dress for work.”

Stiles stills and furrows his brows at Derek, “You called him?” He asks worriedly, because he hasn’t had a chance to call Scott himself yet.

“I didn’t tell him _why_ ,” Derek clarifies, “That’s your business, I just told him that I didn’t know.”

“It’s kinda obvious what happened,” Stiles points out and rubs a hand over his face, “He’s gonna kill me, I knew I should’ve told him first.”

“He’s your best friend,” Derek responds knowingly, “He’ll understand. And you didn’t tell me, I already knew.”

“What?” Stiles asks in confusion, resting his fork against his plate, “What’s that even mean?”

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out when someone’s having an affair.”

“You knew,” Stiles says numbly, then shakes his head, “You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

“You wouldn’t have believed me,” Derek says back, “You didn’t believe me when you told me you were going to propose. What would I say, Stilinski? If I accused her before, I didn’t have **proof** of it.”

“Maybe not, but you’d rather sit back and let me get my fucking heart crushed?” Stiles asks and pokes angrily at his eggs, “Even if I wouldn’t have believed you, you still should’ve told me.”

Derek shakes his head, “It was none of my business, and you don’t have the right to point your finger at me. I **don’t** like knowing that someone’s using you, but it’s not my place to tell you that I have a hunch about it.”

“It was your business. You’re one of my best friends, that makes it your business.”

Derek sighs in annoyance and continues eating his food, brows knit together before he stops again, “So you’re upset at me for not being by your side when you tell me you're proposing, and now you’re upset because I didn’t inform you **sooner**. I don’t involve myself in people’s affairs for a _reason_ , they’re not mine.”

Stiles deflates and stares at Derek, pointedly keeping his eyes north of his partner’s shoulders, “I’m taking it out on you,” He says, then looks back down to his food before taking a bite, “Sorry.”

“Save it for someone who cares,” Derek says, not particularly in the mood to eat anymore and he stands up from the table, leaving the room to go into his own to get dressed for work.

Stiles frowns when he watches Derek leave the kitchen, eyes eventually dropping back down to his food after a moment, “I thought you did,” He utters to himself and pushes the plate away.

Derek rolls his eyes at the comment as he pulls a shirt from the closet and hears McCall park outside the house as he takes off his pajama bottoms. Of **course** he cares, but evidently not enough to be psychic.

* * *

Stiles logs into the database and searches for a match to the DNA they lifted from the creepy case regarding the young girl, minimizing CODIS as he hums a random song to himself.

While the computer is analyzing, he focuses on straightening up his desk, moving stacks of files off to the side as he taps his foot against the floor, “ _Poetry in motion, walkin’ by my side,_ ” He sings lowly to himself.

Derek narrows his brows as he talks to the lead on the other side of the phone, glancing up at Stiles as he glares across their desks, “When was the last time you spoke to him?” He asks as he tries to focus his hearing away from his partner.

Stiles glances up and notices the way Derek’s glaring at him, causing him to smile to himself as he sings a little louder, confused a little as to where he even knows the song from, “ _Her lovely locomotion, keeps my eyes open wide._ ”

Derek presses the phone to his ear harder and plugs the other as he presses his lips together, “No, he’s not in ‘trouble’, he’s just wanted for questioning.”

Stiles takes a few old papers on his desk and rolls his seat to the paper shredder beside it, running them through as he continues on belting out the melody, “ _Poetry in motion, see her gentle sway._ ”

“Do you have a number for her?” Derek pulls his hand from his ear and grabs his highlighter, tossing it across the desks and hitting Stiles in the chest with it before he starts writing down the number on the paper before him.

“Ouch!” Stiles hisses and levels his partner with an incredulous stare, rubbing at his chest where the highlighter hit before singing some more, even if only just to piss Derek off, “ _A wave out on the ocean, could never move that way._ ”

“If you think of anything else-” Derek throws another highlighter at Stiles and huffs, “My extension is eight, eight, nine, two,” He says and nods, “Thank you for your time,” And hangs up before setting his arms on his desk and looking across to his partner, “It’s not the slightest bit **morbid** singing that song in the office?”

“What are you talking about?” Stiles asks, rubbing his collar bone where the second highlighter hit him, brows furrowed in confusion, “I’m not even sure how I know it.”

“It was playing on the cd in Mandy Chapman’s bedroom,” Derek says and raises his brows at Stiles.

Stiles swallows then and feels both inexplicably guilty and sick all at once, “Shit.”

Derek watches Stiles and nods slightly as he frowns, “The potted plant between her legs was a flower,” He says finally, and he’s been meaning to mention this to his partner for a while now, but they’ve been busy moving him in and getting him settled in Derek’s bedroom, it’s slipped his mind twice, “Heliotrope.”

“A flower of devotion,” Stiles says lowly to himself.

“I looked it up, that’s what the flower stands for,” Derek responds, “Devotion, faithfulness. I found out something else as well, it might mean nothing, but she’d recently gotten rhinoplasty.”

Stiles rolls back behind his desk and leans forward, resting his elbows on it as he stares at Derek, “She doesn’t need improvement, she’s much too nice to rearrange,” He says flatly, instead of singing it.

Derek nods and glances down at his papers, “The removal of her makeup, her hair clips, her fake nails, the surgery fits in pretty well with them. Someone doesn’t like young girls changing themselves.”

“And clearly the only logical explanation is to kill them,” Stiles sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, “I hope you’re wrong, I hope this was just… A _one time thing_.”

“Me too,” Derek admits, but he won’t be surprised if there’s another, “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to change yourself,” He says then, “Having a serial killer taking the lives of young girls that try to is… Disgusting.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees and nods, removing his hand from his face to run it up over the back of his head, “And it actually kinda pisses me off that this fucktard feels entitled to do something about it.”

“Not just entitled,” Derek muses aloud, “His response is drastic, killing her because of it… And then getting off on it...”

Stiles maximizes CODIS again and glances at Derek, “Still nothing,” He says as the database searches, “I dunno how we haven’t gotten a hit yet.”

“The semen might still turn up something,” Derek says dismissively, reaching up to scratch his fingers through his beard as he glances at his computer screen, “You’ll know something by tomorrow.”

“Hope so,” Stiles mumbles to himself, resting the side of his face against his hand.

“If it does, just try to prepare a list of possible leads, find out whatever you can before I get back on Friday, but don’t leave the office,” Derek says as he picks up his phone and starts dialing the number for the next lead on his list.

Stiles lifts a brow and looks at Derek suddenly, “Friday?” He asks in confusion, “Where are you gonna be for the next two days?”

“It-” Derek cuts off and turns into the phone, “Ellie Baldwin,” He starts, listening to her as he writes on the paper and lifts it to Stiles, “This is agent Hale of the FBI, I have some questions concerning your brother’s whereabouts, if you have the time.”

‘ _It’s personal._ ’

Stiles narrows his brows at his partner and shakes his head, snorting incredulously, “ _It’s always fucking personal,_ ” He says in a harsh whisper, staring pointedly at Derek, “ _What the Hell?_ ”

“No, he’s not in any trouble,” Derek says as he looks at Stiles pointedly, lifting the paper again, “He’s just wanted for questioning.”

“ _We technically live together,_ ” Stiles points out lowly, “ _It can’t be **that** fucking personal, dude._ ”

“One moment,” Derek covers the phone and looks at Stiles, “ _It’s that personal, Stilinski, now shut up._ ”

“You shut up,” Stiles says petulantly and resolves to sticking his tongue out like a five year old before returning to his computer.

* * *

Stiles hadn’t anticipated work being a blast without Derek around, but he also didn’t expect it to drag so much, either. Being stuck in the office, he’s come to realize, is basically the equivalent of being grounded. It’s no fun, and to make matters worse, he doesn’t get a hit on the DNA regarding Mandy Chapman’s case and he’s sure that his partner is going to be just as equally disgruntled when he has to tell him.

When he gets home, Stiles lets himself in and sits his stuff on the coffee table, “Honey, I’m home,” He calls out sardonically, reaching up to loosen his tie.

Furrowing his brows when he doesn’t get a response of any kind, not even a ‘shut up, Stilinski’, he moves around the house. He checks the kitchen first and there’s nothing, no sign that Derek’s even touched anything in it at all today.

So he moves to head down the hallway, tentatively pushing open the bathroom door to find nothing again, “Hale?” He asks and walks to the room he’s been sleeping in, thinking maybe his partner finally decided to take his own bed back and huffs when it’s empty.

One of the only rooms he hasn’t really checked is the guest bedroom, so he moves to it next and warily pushes the door open, visibly relaxing the moment he sees the older man in the bed, but he frowns when he actually looks him over, because he looks like death warmed up, “Are you sick?”

“No,” Derek responds at once, covering his face with the blanket and turning over, “ _Go away, Stilinski._ ”

“Not gonna happen,” Stiles tells him and moves closer, sitting down on the bed next to the big, mountainous lump of blankets before tugging it down to look at Derek’s face, “You look like shit, and I owe you, remember? Let me coddle you.”

“I’m not sick, now leave me alone,” Derek growls out and tries to push Stiles away, “Just **leave**.”

“No,” Stiles responds firmly and reaches up to touch his partner’s grossly sweaty forehead, “You’re burning up, let me take your temperature. Where do you keep your thermometer?”

“Stilinski,” Derek breathes and shoves Stiles’s hand out of his face as he sits up from the bed, “Get out of the fucking room and mind your own business.”

“I live here, too,” Stiles says stubbornly and shakes his head, “And I’m not just gonna let you lay in here and wallow, not when I’m physically capable of returning the favor. So just shut up and let me take care of you, alright?”

“There’s nothing to take care of, this is normal,” Derek responds and stands up from the bed as he tries to get away from Stiles. He’s not really in much control of his body, now that it’s later in the day, it’s getting worse.

Stiles stands up as well and puts his palms against Derek’s chest, looking up into his eyes resolutely, “ **Lay down** ,” He says, pushing him back towards the bed, “I’ll go get you some water, are you hungry?”

Derek grabs Stiles’s hands and pushes **him** back, all but slamming him against the wall as he stares down at his partner.

“Fuck,” Stiles grunts out the moment his back hits the wall and he doubles over for a moment, eyes wide at the renewed pain in his lower back.

“ **Leave. Me. Alone. Stiles.** ”

Stiles looks up at Derek and sighs, “Fine, fuck you,” He says hoarsely, pushing the other man away and limping out of the room.

Derek slams the door behind Stiles, hearing the frame groan and crack. He locks the door before moving back to his bed and climbing under the covers, curling into himself and squeezing his eyes shut.

* * *

“One moment, please,” Erica says as she puts her phone on hold before transferring to agent Whittemore and then setting the next calls to go to voicemail as she looks up at Stiles, “What did you need, honey?”

Stiles smiles weakly at her and leans forward on the desk, palms resting against it as he narrows his brows, “You keep track of absences, right?”

“I keep track of everything,” Erica responds, “Did you wanna take some time off?”

“No,” Stiles shakes his head and wets his lips, “I was just-I was wondering how often agent Hale takes off,” He says, looking at her curiously.

“One to two days every month,” Erica says and shrugs, “He has the whole next year planned out, he always does. Why, did you wanna take days off with him?” She asks and smiles wider, “It’s gotta be annoying being stuck in the office because of it. Vernon took the same days off too because he got tired of it.”

“It’s a little annoying, yeah,” Stiles agrees, “But no, I don’t need the same days off,” He assures, “Was just wondering how often he took off, the guy won’t really tell me why.”

“You want his schedule for this year?” Erica asks and reaches out to her top drawer just below where stiles is standing.

“Um,” Stiles swallows and feels kind of guilty, but he nods, “Sure, yeah.”

Erica giggles and pulls Derek’s file out, taking out the front paper and handing it to him, “You can make a copy if you want, most do that with their partners, just… **Don’t take the original**.”

“Okay, thanks,” Stiles says and takes the paper, glancing at it briefly before nodding in the other direction, “I’ll bring it right back,” He tells her and stalks off to the copy machine.

“Hey," He starts once he comes back to Erica, "I meant to ask you a while back, but I just… Never really got around to it. You remember when I first started here? The first time we met, you were cleaning up a broken phone on Hale’s desk… What happened to it?”

“Derek broke it,” Erica responds, lifting her brows and then turning to open her bottom drawer behind her, “I keep them on hand because he… He breaks them a lot, and they’re a pain in the ass to replace because they keep them downstairs.”

“What do you mean he ‘breaks’ them?” Stiles asks in confusion, “I saw the phone, it was literally in pieces and yeah, I get that he’s a buff dude, but even he couldn’t have done that.”

Erica makes a face as she shrugs again, “I dunno, he just does it a lot,” She says, “I’ve seen him crack the screen on his own phone at least fifty times. He gets angry and he breaks stuff, it’s all on file. Did you want that too?”

“Would it make me a nosey partner if I said yes?” Stiles asks vaguely, squinting at her.

“Not really,” Erica responds and glances around the office, “He’s your partner, right? Who doesn’t ask questions about a new partner, I’m surprised it took you this long to ask.”

“Like I said,” Stiles shrugs, “I’ve been meaning to, just been busy with getting stabbed and everything.”

Erica giggles and nods as she opens the file again and sifts through it, “Did you wanna just look through? I mean, Allison does it with pretty much every agent file once or twice a month sometimes.”

“Yeah, I can just-look through and whatnot,” Stiles nods as well, “Don’t… Don’t tell him I’m asking, yeah? You know how the guy is.”

“I barely talk to him,” Erica says as she hands the file over, “It’s not like we gossip and do one another’s toe nails.”

Stiles takes the files and skims over it, eyes widening at how long the list is, “Don’t really need to talk to the guy to know he has anger issues,” He says almost distantly.

“Yeah, it’s not like it’s a big deal, he’s broken tables, too,” Erica lowers her voice, “ _A lot of us just think he’s on steroids but… We don’t really talk about it anymore._ ”

“Mm,” Stiles hums to himself and shakes his head at the file before handing it back to her, tucking his partner’s schedule under his arm, “Thanks… Uh, for everything,” He nods to her.

“No problem, honey,” Erica says as she puts the file back in the drawer and closes it, “If you need anything else, just ask.”

“Gotchya,” Stiles says and grins before moving back to his desk, laying the schedule down next to his calendar before looking back and forth between them, frowning to himself as he circles the days his partner takes off; which are all coincidentally the day before and the day of the first full moon of each month.

His mind kind of takes a left turn and runs rampant after that, trying to link together the teeth found in the debris after the Hale fire with the full moons his partner takes off.

He snorts to himself and shakes his head, because shit like what he’s thinking isn’t real. It has to all be coincidental, that’s what he tells himself before he starts thinking about his partner’s anger the day before, his questionable strength, the long list of damaged or broken work property.

If he were someone else, someone who turned their nose up at the idea of supernatural entities, he’d just let it go and think it was nothing, but the facts are right in front of him and it’s not something he can ignore...

Derek’s a werewolf, he has to be, and tonight’s the full moon, which means he’s going  to have to tread lightly, maybe not even bring it up at all until he’s off his moon period.

* * *

Derek tries to make the questioning go by fast with the last lead of the day, Amy Hines, a close friend of Mandy’s that is in too much shock still to really give them much to go on. She **does** supply a list of names, numbers, and a couple addresses that’ll no doubt be of help, but the day’s coming to an end and it honestly can’t come sooner.

He’s been sluggish all day, practically exhausted from the night before and he turns to Stiles as he puts his notepad back in his pocket, “You have any luck with her mother?”

“Not really,” Stiles responds vaguely, staring intently at Derek as they head back towards the car, “She didn’t give me anything new, it’s nothing we haven’t heard before.”

Derek nods and sighs in annoyance, “Most parents aren’t as involved in the things their kids do anymore. Her friend had a lot of information we can use, it probably won’t turn up much, but it’s necessary to at least follow up.”

“Yeah,” Stiles nods as well and thwaps his small notepad against his hand as he turns some, blocking Derek off just before they reach the car, “Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something,” He says, staring up at his partner seriously.

“Okay,” Derek says slowly, eying Stiles skeptically as he stops and keeps his hands in his pockets, “Which is?”

“Um,” Stiles narrows his brows and wets his lips, searching his partner’s face in order to better gauge the other man’s next response, “A-Are you uh-” He sighs and starts to force it out, “Are you a-”

Stiles’s sentence is cut off suddenly and Derek winces at the sharp, deafening sound of the shot. Staring at his partner, he reaches out quickly to cover him, pulling Stiles back to the car as he uses his body as a shield, slowly laying the younger man on the ground.

He looks back behind him, meeting a woman’s eyes a far distance away - she’s there for a second, and then gone just as quickly - he turns back, not bothering to go after her as he looks down at Stiles and the small hole in his shirt, just above his pants.

Stiles’s eyes widen at the sound still ringing in his ears and he blinks in confusion, not really understanding why Derek’s laying him down. He swallows and feels warmth spreading around his stomach, so he reaches down to touch his shirt, frowning when he pulls back a blood covered hand and his eyes dart to his partner’s.

“D-D-Did I-” He’s trying to ask if he actually got shot, but then the pain floods through him suddenly and he cries out.

“Stay still,” Derek says, voice shaking and he can't help feeling like it’s a repeat of the last time, reaching into his pocket to take out his cell phone and call 911. He reaches out as it rings, ripping open Stiles’s shirt and taking his partner’s hand, “Keep it tight,” He says as he puts the already blood covered hand over the wound and looks Stiles in the eyes.

“Keep it there for a second,” He repeats and takes off his coat, grabbing his keys as he runs to the back of the car and opens the trunk, “Hi, this is agent Hale of the FBI, my partner’s been shot.”

Stiles keeps his hand on the wound and stares up at the sky when his partner disappears from his side, grunting and fighting the urge to thrash his head back in agony as the pain sears throughout his stomach like fire.

Derek comes back once he’s grabbed one of the packages of gauze in the back of the car, moving to Stiles as he finishes the call and drops his phone, pulling Stiles’s hand away carefully, “Stiles,” He looks up to his partner’s eyes, “Talk to me, what are you feeling?”

“Hurts,” Stiles breathes out and it’s probably an understatement, eyes watering as he clenches his jaw, “I-It’s- **fuck** , it’s bad,” He tells his partner, reaching out desperately to grab Derek’s shirt.

“Keep your arms down,” Derek says as he pushes Stiles’s hands away, “You’re bleeding out, you don’t wanna lift your arms.”

Stiles swallows and everything in him just wants to touch his partner, he needs to be connected somehow, because he knows this is so much worse than his stab wound - and he doesn’t want to die alone.

“I don’t wanna die, Derek,” He says softly, tears dripping down as he reaches for the older man again, the pain causing the corners of his vision to darken and blur, “I don’t wanna die.”

“You’re not gonna die,” Derek says, even though he doesn’t believe it himself.

He hasn’t heard the boy say his name before, it actually confuses him for a moment and he meets Stiles’s eyes, watching the tears fall down the sides of his face, “I’ve already called for an ambulance, you’ll be fine.”

He reaches up to touch Stiles’s forehead, checking his temperature and frowning, “Are you cold?”

Stiles nods subtly and breathes shallowly, deep intakes hurting too badly, “M’not-” He starts and has to stop for a second, because it’s like each word just fucking drains him, “Not gonna be okay,” He says knowingly, weakly grasping at Derek’s shirt again as the discomfort makes him sob a little, “ _Derek_.”

“Keep your hands down,” Derek takes Stiles’s hand again to hold the gauze in place as he reaches back to take off his shirt, folding it and putting it under his partner’s head, moving his coat and draping it over the boy’s legs.

“You haven’t gotten much better with listening to me while you’re mortally wounded,” He says as his own eyes blur suddenly, “You think you’d be better at this the second time around.”

Stiles chuffs out a pained chuckle and smiles weakly at the older man, “You’re…” One of his legs draws up slightly when the pain becomes almost unbearable and he cries out again, writhing a bit, “You’re a good partner,” He gasps out, subtly trying to get his goodbyes in before it’s too late.

Derek frowns at the sharp cry, his shaking hand moving to touch Stiles’s skin as he starts to draw the pain away, “I’m not,” He says as he tries to breathe, himself, his heart pinching painfully as he watches Stiles.

“You are,” Stiles argues, breathing the words out in a tight breath as he keeps his eyes locked on Derek, even though everything’s steadily becoming more hazy, “I-I’m-” He winces, “I’m glad you were mine.”

“Stiles,” Derek swallows the lump in his throat and covers his partner’s hand with his own, his jaw clenching tightly as he feels his body shake uncontrollably, nearly shifting as he tries to keep calm, but he’s about two seconds from completely losing his hold on himself.

“Just keep talking, you idiot, if you fall asleep I’ll kill you, I mean it.”

“Mm,” Stiles grunts, lifting his fingers a little to touch Derek’s hand as he swallows, blinking slowly at his partner, “T-Tell…” His chest heaves slightly and he feels faint, “Tell my dad-tell him I love him, okay?” He pushes out.

“Scott, too,” He adds, trying his hardest to ignore the way he feels fatigue pulling him under, “A-And Derek, buddy… _You too_.”

“Save it,” Derek growls and his heart stammers at the comment, the sound of Stiles’s voice getting weaker and more panicked, “Tell them yourself, I’m not a goddamn messenger,” He says as he tries to comfort them both the best he can, “Your dad’ll have to drive here this time, it’s one thing to miss a stab wound…”

Stiles chuckles and his chuckle turns into an agonizing cough, feeling his blood gushing out between his fingers as he shakes his head, still looking at Derek.

His expression relaxes a little bit, though, and he kind of feels calm almost at once, unable to stop the way his eyes are taking longer to open again when he blinks. He doesn’t want to fall asleep or pass out, because he knows he probably won’t wake up, but he’s weak.

“M’tired,” He tells his partner lazily.

“No, you’re not,” Derek responds as he starts drawing out as much pain from Stiles as he can, covering the wound with both hands and gasping as he looks at the younger man.

He can’t do anything more at this point, the best he can do is make Stiles comfortable, let him die in some sense of peace.

[MageStiles](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/) ϟ [Sparklinski](http://sparklinski.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting side note, the last scene bore some similarities to Allison at the end of 3b, however, this was written WAY before. Maybe even before 3b started airing.


	19. Lies and Truths

Derek doesn’t move from his spot in the chair closest to the room Stiles has been in for hours now. He’s lost all track of time at this point, not bothering to move to even check his watch as he stares down at the blood on his hands and listens to the doctors and nurses talking calmly.

All he can do is listen desperately to the sound of Stiles’s heart beats, waiting for them to stop at any moment - he’s not sure what would happen if they do, but thankfully they keep going, just as stubborn and determined as Stiles himself.

He called Stiles’s father the moment he could (from his partner’s cell phone), and then Scott immediately after - the latter sitting beside him, just as silent as he is when Derek picks up the familiar sound of Stiles’s father’s voice.

John politely thanks the nurse for pointing him in the right direction and heads further down the hall, stopping promptly in front of both Scott and Derek with a sullen look on his face, “Boys,” He says, trying to keep his tone firm, but it wavers, because he’s worried about Stiles.

Derek looks up at John and nods silently to him, unable to bring himself to say much else before he stands to offer the sheriff his chair.

“It’s fine,” The sheriff waves it off and puts his hands on his hips, looking between the both of them, “Have the doctors come out and told you anything yet?” He asks.

“Nothing,” Scott shakes his head and looks away from the sheriff, frowning to himself.

“It’s been quiet,” Derek supplies, even though he knows better, but he doesn’t have any **bad** news to tell, even being able to hear everything - apart from the fact that Stiles was shot, in general.

John looks specifically to Derek then and furrows his brows, “How long’s he been in?”

“Since before I called you,” Derek says as he stares back at John firmly, “He’s been in there for a while, I guess it’s more serious than they anticipated.”

John nods glumly and looks down at his feet for a moment, eyes watering slightly at the possibility of losing his only child, “He’ll pull through, the kid’s strong,” He says, then looks between both of the younger men.

“Yeah he is,” Scott agrees and stands up, rubbing his palms on his slacks before giving the sheriff a one-armed hug, “I’m gonna run down to the cafeteria real quick, get me some coffee. I’ll be right back,” He says, nodding to Derek before he walks off.

John motions to Derek’s seat, “Sit,” He says, then moves to take the one Scott had been in just before.

Derek swallows tightly and sits down, idly listening to the surgery going on in the other room, Stiles’s constant heart beats probably the **only** thing keeping him from shifting and going nuclear as he holds his partner’s phone in his hand.

“You get a good look at who did it?” John asks, side-glancing his son’s partner.

“Yeah,” Derek admits, “A woman, with long dark hair and tan skin, she left quickly. I’ve never seen her before. I would’ve went after her, but...” He swallows and looks back towards the doors.

“I understand,” John tells him, watching Derek, “I’m glad you stayed with him, instead. Did you give your report, the woman’s description?”

“It’s taken care of,” Derek says as he looks down at his hands again, “A couple agents are on scene, I’ve talked in length with them, but they weren’t able to find anything. They know that she ran on foot and she wasn’t wearing shoes. That’s… About as far as it goes. Once the bullet’s removed it might lead to finding out something, but for now it’s looking like the case will go stale.”

“Someone’ll answer for it eventually,” John says calmly, noticing the blood on Derek’s hands and he sighs, “I’m starting to think that if you didn’t have bad luck, you wouldn’t have any luck at all. How are you holding up?”

Derek shakes his head slightly as his shoulders tremble, unable to bring himself to say anything because he knows he’s not holding up at **all** , and he doesn’t want to lie to Stiles’s father.

John swallows at the concern he sees on the younger man’s face and he reaches up, clasping a firm hand on his shoulder, “He’ll be alright, son,” He tries to reassure Derek, even if only to reassure himself.

“He doesn’t have another choice,” Derek says then, narrowing his brows and looking at John, trying not to think too much about the alternative.

John nods in agreement and stares inquisitively back at Derek, “You love him, don’t you?” He asks knowingly.

Derek feels his heart race at the accusation and his jaw tightens nervously as he stares at Stiles’s father, “I-... Yes.”

The sheriff smiles weakly and squeezes Derek’s shoulder before pulling it back, “I’m glad he has someone that cares for him as much as you do,” He tells him, “Someone to look after him. If it weren’t for you, my son would’ve been dead already. I’m grateful.”

Derek blinks in surprise at the sincerity in John’s voice and what really seals it for him is when the older man’s heart doesn’t stutter at all. He doesn’t know what to say so he just kind of nods.

* * *

Stiles opens his eyes and the first thing he really sees is something bright, almost blinding, and he blinks at the harshness of it. He’s sore, that much he realizes, and his brain feels kind of foggy, but even in his haze he can feel his pain easing.

It hurts to move, but he manages to turn his head and notices Derek, watching the way the odd, black looking veins shoot up his partner’s arm, “That one of your wolfy tricks?” He asks hoarsely, wincing at how badly it hurts to speak.

Derek turns to Stiles and blinks at the comment, but he doesn’t take his hand away, just nods and decides to accept it as it is. He’s taken some time to himself to decide on what to do next. He wasn’t sure what Stiles was trying to ask him when he got shot, but now he thinks he knows, “Yeah.”

Stiles barely nods in turn and offers a weak upward twitch of his lips, “Thought so,” He croaks out, swallowing and trying to get some saliva producing in his dry mouth.

Derek turns to grab the second glass of cold water behind his, more than prepared this time and he stands up, reaching under Stiles to help him up a little before offering it to him, tilting it so that the straw is just near the younger man’s mouth.

Stiles narrows his brows in concentration as he takes a sip, groaning lowly at how good the water feels going down and he touches Derek’s arm as he let’s the straw go, “Thanks,” He utters.

Derek puts the glass back on the table and sits down again, taking the folded piece of paper from his coat pocket and handing it to Stiles warily.

Stiles’s hand shakes as he holds the piece of paper and it takes him longer than it normally would to unfold it, but when he finally looks at it he feels a myriad of different emotions all at once - hurt, anger, betrayal. One of the most prominent things he feels, though, is _relief._

__

“Why did you hide this from me?” He asks, voice gravelly.

“You weren’t supposed to know. No one at the FBI does, Boyd didn’t, I don’t tell anyone.”

“You’re a jackass,” Stiles says, but there’s no heat to his tone. In all honesty, he doesn’t have the energy to be mad right now, “We could’ve capped the case already.”

“I know, but you **weren’t** supposed to know, no one was,” Derek repeats, “I’m sure it’s why you were shot. The woman I saw was a werewolf as well.”

“I was onto something, Derek,” Stiles says and tries to fix his partner with a stern look, but ends up failing miserably, “I had a theory and you took it away from me. Whether I was supposed to know or not, you shouldn’t-” He winces and moves his hand to his stomach, “You shouldn’t have hid it.”

“I shouldn’t have hid a secret from you that I’ve been hiding for my **entire** life?” Derek asks, raising his brows, “I’ve known you for a few **months** , Stiles, I couldn’t just tell you something like that or let you figure it out on your own - it’s a secret for a reason.”

“I’m still mad at you,” Stiles says quietly and closes his eyes, wanting to lean up a little in the bed, but given how badly his stomach hurts laying down, he doesn’t risk it.

Derek sighs in annoyance and takes Stiles’s hand again to draw away more pain, “There’s… Other things, about the fire, and the drug, ‘Blue Moon’.”

Stiles twists his fingers and curls them around Derek’s hand, and it’s reminiscent of when he’d been in the hospital after he got stabbed, “Doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on with Blue Moon,” He says, then opens his eyes and tries to shrug a little, “Well, provided you know werewolves exist, of course.”

Derek nods slightly, “Wolfsbane normally has… Unusual side effects for werewolves. I’m not sure why he’d let it out, knowing it would probably react to humans about as well as the plant itself does. But, I-about the fire… I already know who did it, and I… I lied to you about not knowing Kate Argent.”

Stiles feels his heart stammer a little and he frowns, because he’d trusted Derek and trusted him not to lie to him, “I believed you,” He says, and he seriously doesn’t need this kind of stress after waking up from a gunshot wound.

He pulls his hand away from the older man’s and lays it on his stomach instead, looking away because he can’t meet Derek’s eyes, “And you lied to me, _repeatedly_.”

Derek frowns slowly and shakes his head, “I didn’t want to, it’s-even after twenty years it’s… Not an easy subject to talk to people about. I-I made a lot of mistakes when I was younger.”

Stiles turns his head and looks back at Derek, trying to keep his hurt from being too apparent, “And you thought what? That I’d… Judge you? Because of Kate?”

“ **I** do,” Derek admits and wets his lips, “You don’t know everything, Stiles.”

“Then tell me,” Stiles pleads desperately, eyes widening slightly as he stares at the older man, “I wanna know.”

“I was fifteen,” Derek starts, “She was… In her mid-twenties,” He shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he thinks back on it all, “I thought I was in love with her, she used me, and then she killed my family.”

“Because they were werewolves?” Stiles asks in confusion as he watches Derek closely.

“Yes,” Derek says and sits back in his seat, “The Argent family are werewolf hunters. Normally they don’t seek out and eradicate, as far as I knew… From what my parents told me when I was younger.”

“ _Bad blood_ ,” Stiles mutters softly to himself and he can’t stay mad at Derek, so he lays his hand out towards the edge of the bed and turns his palm up, “I don’t think she’s dead, we’ll find her.”

Derek takes Stiles’s hand again, this time in both of his as he starts to withdraw the pain once more, “She’s been missing for over twenty years. Either she’s dead or she’s good at hiding. But either way I don’t see her coming back after all this time. Peter could’ve killed her himself, he doesn’t seem to have a problem doing that.”

“We wouldn’t have gotten to this point, finding out about Peter, if it weren’t for me,” Stiles says, “Have a little faith in me, I said we’ll find her.”

Derek smiles weakly and nods, “I should call your father, I told him I would after you woke up.”

“Where is he?” Stiles asks then, glancing around the room he’s in.

“He’s been staying at the house,” Derek says, “I told him I’d watch you, a man his age shouldn’t be sleeping in chairs or on hospital beds, not with his back.”

Stiles takes the information in and nods, “Where’s Scott?”

“Work,” Derek answers and watches Stiles, “You’ve been out for a while, he’s came in a few times, though, but he couldn’t take off the time.”

“How long have I been out?” Stiles asks worriedly and swallows down the lump in his throat.

Derek runs his thumb over Stiles’s skin to try and ease him down, “You’ve been in a medically induced coma for a week.”

“A week,” Stiles breathes out incredulously and feels tears prick at his eyes, “You’ve been here for a week?”

Derek chuckles and nods, “I’ve left a couple times… When there were about fifteen others in the room, to shower and change, but yeah, I’ve been here for a week.”

Stiles’s mouth pops open a little and he just stares at Derek for a moment, “I’m gonna have to tell Scotty you’re gunning for his number one spot,” He says.

“I’m just more paranoid than he is,” Derek clarifies flatly as he motions to the boxes beside him, “I’ve just been doing paperwork.”

“Being paranoid can be a good thing,” Stiles says dismissively, “Especially in our line of work, big guy.” He rubs his other hand over his stomach, grimacing at the pull of the IV’s in his arm, “So what’d the doctor’s say? I’m in the clear, right?”

“Yeah, you’re ‘lucky as Hell’,” Derek repeats the doctor’s words, “If it was off by just a bit one way or another you would have bled out in seconds, or been paralyzed from the waist down.”

Stiles tries not to frown at that and instead nods to himself, “I don’t think I’m gonna bounce back as quick, not this time.”

“You’ll be out for a while, we **both** will be,” Derek confirms, “We’ve already gotten the third room prepared so you and I can work from home until you’re better. I was gonna work and check up on you hourly but… I guess Deaton doesn’t want you home alone, either.”

“It’s easier to just say you actually care about me,” Stiles grins and reaches up to run his fingers through his greasy hair, “Contrary to what people say, I am actually very easy to like. I’d like to think both you and Argent are proof of that.”

Derek narrows his eyes but doesn’t comment on it, “Once they do a check up and make sure you’re okay, we can get you moved back to the house, probably tonight.”

“This is gonna suck,” Stiles mumbles to himself and lifts the sheet up to look down at himself, sighing when he sees the catheter, “Yeah, definitely. I dunno if I can even walk.”

“I’ll probably carry you, if I have to,” Derek says sarcastically, “But they’ll take you to the house and get you moved in and set up in the bedroom, don’t worry about it.”

“What about my fucking catheter?” Stiles asks, feeling oddly embarrassed, “Are they gonna take it out so I don’t have to piss in a bag?”

“During the check up,” Derek responds and chuckles at the look on the boy’s face, “Be patient.”

“How do I look? Do I look bad?”

Derek doesn’t respond the way he wants to, shaking his head simply and taking out his phone, “You look like you’ve been in a medically induced coma for about _three_ days instead of seven.”

Stiles rubs his lips together, “Are my lips chapped?” He asks, “They feel like it… And did someone not like… Sponge bathe me or something? My hair is greasy as shit.”

“You’ve been sweating a lot,” Derek responds as he clears his throat, “The AC in this room is broken.”

Stiles can definitely gather that much, given how heated his cheeks feel, “Do you have any chapstick?”

“No.”

“So, you’re a werewolf,” Stiles says conversationally, “That’s pretty cool.”

“Not really,” Derek admits, “It’s convenient, but other than that it… It’s not worth the cost.”

“Thank you, Derek Hale, for once again busting my balls,” Stiles says, exasperated, but he squeezes his partner’s hand tighter, “An entire childhood ruined, all because you can’t just indulge me a little.”

“Why would I indulge you in a lie?” Derek asks as he narrows his brows, “All it’s cost me is grief and loss, I don’t see it being ‘cool’ in the slightest.”

“I’m fragile, okay?” Stiles looks at Derek, “And I’ve literally believed in werewolves since I was like, six or some shit. It’s… Never mind, you’re right. I guess If I’d been through what you’ve been through, I wouldn’t think it was cool either.”

Derek chuckles and stares back at Stiles, “What do you wanna know about it?”

“D-Do you, um…” Stiles jumps at the opportunity to ask questions almost at once, “Do you stay like that,” He waves his hand vaguely at his partner, “All the time, or can you change?” His eyes widen, “Can you turn into a big fluffy wolf?”

“No,” Derek says, “Alphas can change into either a **werewolf** , like in Van Helsing, or into a wolf, but for betas and omegas it’s more like The Wolfman.”

Stiles rolls his bottom lip between his teeth and stares at Derek intently, “And what are you?”

“Omega,” Derek answers and than elaborates, “A werewolf without a pack.”

“Oh,” Stiles nods thoughtfully, “And the two days you take off each month are because?...”

“That isn’t obvious?”

“Obvious that you have some kinda _moon_ strual cycle?” Stiles quips, “Yeah, I guess it’s pretty obvious. I was just making sure.”

“I’d take off three days if I could, but they already ask enough questions about it as is,” Derek says, “I take off the day before because I get… You saw me, I get rough-I’m sorry, I didn’t have much control over myself.”

“It’s okay,” Stiles tells him, completely brushing the incident off, “I shouldn’t have pestered you like that.”

“I could’ve hurt you,” Derek responds, letting out a huff of breath, “I’ve done worse, that’s why I have such a bad reputation at work, my first few months at the bureau were bad. I thought I could work on those days without it being difficult, but people-the things they said then were just as bad as they are now, I just wasn’t used to them then.”

“Guess it’s a good thing you started taking the two days off then,” Stiles smiles weakly, “I’ll just have to leave you alone from now on, pretty sure I’ve learned my lesson.”

Derek shakes his head, “It’s not so bad if you know not to push, but most don’t.”

“I just-I wanted to help,” Stiles explains why he was so adamant, “Return the favor, you know? I owe you so much, it’s insane. **Now** look at me,” He sighs, “I’m gonna owe you for the rest of my life.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Derek responds as he squeezes Stiles’s hand gently, “You’ve already done more for me than anyone else has in over twenty years - it’s fine.”

“It’s not,” Stiles argues, “You’ve saved my life like, twice now and you’ve literally fucked someone just to help me get information. All I’ve done is just… Link your uncle to Blue Moon, and even then, we can’t be sure. We don’t have any solid proof. So yeah, I fucking owe you.”

“You don’t,” Derek says again, more firmly this time, “And it’s not healthy to think that way.”

“I very distinctly remember the words ‘you owe me’ coming out of your mouth on more than one occasion,” Stiles points out, raising a brow at Derek.

“And now I’m telling you that it’s **fine** ,” Derek says and stares at his partner unblinkingly, “Did you have any more questions or concerns about me… Being a werewolf?”

“Uh,” Stiles breathes out and purses his lips, “Can you do anything cool aside from the black vein leachy thing?”

“I can heal really fast,” Derek answers as he tries to think about it, “I can lift cars and throw them like you’re throwing your phone.”

“You can heal really fast and I’m the one constantly getting fucking hurt,” Stiles snorts, “Go fucking figure. So not fair.”

Derek nods in agreement, “I can hear and smell things from at **least** a mile away. I can taste scents, too - the alcohol in the bar.”

“Oh God, and I unknowingly subjected you to that,” Stiles says in sympathy, “I’m sorry.”

Derek shrugs, “It makes a lot of things difficult, but it comes in handy. I knew no one was in Mandy Chapman’s house, and I could smell the blood and semen from outside. It’s a nice trick to have, I guess.”

“You can smell come?” Stiles wrinkles his nose up and pretends to gag, “You poor thing, how do you even function?”

“After thirty-seven years, you get use to it,” Derek says and chuckles, “I can smell a lot of other things as well, fear, arousal, excitement, sicknesses all have different scents, cancer. I can also smell when a person’s been around another, like… If they’re cheating on their boyfriend.”

Stiles stills and swallows thickly, staring at Derek, “What do I smell like right now?” He asks, instead of commenting on the situation with Heather.

Derek sniffs slightly, “A lot of different things, mostly pain, also all of the different things that were used in your surgery; blood, sweat, and under all of that there’s your own scent, and soap.”

“That’s kind of unnerving,” Stiles says honestly, “Knowing you pretty much have the upper hand **all** the time.” His expression softens some, “Can you hear my heart?” He asks.

“I was listening to it constantly while they were performing on you,” Derek responds, “Just in case… But I can hear everything else as well, organs, blood pumping.”

“Can you tell if someone’s lying?” Stiles asks somewhat excitedly.

Derek nods, “But it has it’s catches. If a person **thinks** they’re telling the truth, or is just good at lying - like a compulsive liar, those kinds of people can convince me just as easily as they can you. But normally people don’t think someone like me is listening in.”

“That’s awesome,” Stiles says in awe, “Try it out, on me, I mean. Ask me something.”

Derek raises a brow, but decides to humor him, “What’s your favorite color?”

“Orange,” Stiles says honestly, keeping his expression blank.

“What was your favorite class in school?”

“Chemistry,” Stiles says, moving his thumb against Derek’s skin.

“No it’s not, is it… Math?”

“Geometry, actually,” Stiles smiles a little wider.

“I figured as much,” Derek says and licks his lips, “What’s your favorite number?”

“Thirty-two.”

“You’re lying,” Derek says at once and smiles slightly at the determined expression on the boy’s face, “Did you have any other questions?”

“No,” Stiles says and shakes his head, “Not right now, I think I’m chalked full of facts for the day.”

Derek nods as he takes Stiles’s phone up again, “Good, I should call your father,” He says as he unlocks the screen, “How’s the pain?”

“Horrible,” Stiles says honestly, “But you don’t have to keep taking it away, I’ll tell you if it’s too much and you can just… Give me a pill or something.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “I don’t mind taking it away, your pains are harmless. It’s better you **don’t** take pills to cloud your judgement on how much pain you’re in.”

“We’re gonna go through this song and dance again, aren’t we?” Stiles asks and snorts at the older man.

Derek growls lightly as he sits back, going through the contacts in the phone, “Shut up, Stiles.”

[MageStiles](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/) ϟ [Sparklinski](http://sparklinski.tumblr.com/)


	20. What Is Privacy?

Stiles looks at all of the files spread out on the bed, strewn over his legs and sighs, because he’s tired and he can’t find anything else. He lifts his hand and scratches his head, grimacing when he feels how greasy his hair is, reminding him of how badly he needs a shower.

“Derek,” He says quietly, smiling to himself, because he knows he’s being childish, trying to see if the werewolf can actually hear him.

“Stiles?” Derek responds loudly from the kitchen, raising his brows.

“ **So** cool,” Stiles says and tries to put everything back in the manila folder, struggling from the angle which he’s propped up, “Hey, can you uh… Can you- _shit_ ,” He stills, because even if Derek helps him into the bathroom, he doesn’t really know how in the Hell he’s supposed to stand up by himself, “Um, nevermind.”

Derek walks down the hall and into the room, looking at Stiles in concern, “What do you need?”

Stiles looks up at the big, hulking mass of werewolf standing by the bed, “Nothing,” He says stubbornly, “You can go back to whatever you were doing.”

“What do you need, Stiles?” Derek asks again, moving closer warily.

“A fucking hospice worker, for one,” Stiles says under his breath, shaking his head, “I-It’s… I need a shower,” He says, “Can you just call Scott and have him come over, at least he’s seen my junk before.”

Derek rolls his eyes and moves to Stiles’s side completely, “You say that like it’s anything I haven’t seen already, do I need to remind you of our latest big case?”

“We’re closer than we used to be, but I don’t really think you wanna have to scrub my ass, dude,” Stiles looks at him with wide eyes, cheeks heating in embarrassment, “I can’t stand for longer than five minutes at this point, so I-I don’t even… Why can’t your fucking shower have a seat in it?” He asks abruptly.

“You shouldn’t be sitting upright much, either, especially if you’re bathing,” Derek responds and reaches out to help Stiles, “And I can make it effortless, do you **really** think Scott would be able to hold you up?”

Stiles deflates and his shoulders slump, “No,” He admits, “Are you sure this doesn’t weird you out? You could just… Put one of the dining room chairs in the shower and let the water fucking beat down on me or something.”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek says as he pulls the blanket away, wrapping one arm around Stiles’s back and the other under him as he carefully picks him up, “It’s not a problem.”

“This is so embarrassing,” Stiles tells him, tentatively wrapping his arms around his partner’s neck, “I am **so** sorry. It would’ve been easier on you to just, let me fucking rot in the hospital.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek looks at the younger man pointedly, “Stop fucking apologizing for being shot in the stomach, it’s **not** a problem.” He lowers his voice then, “I’d sooner clean your ass than have to stand at your fucking funeral.”

“That’s really sweet,” Stiles says and he understands how it could possibly be misconstrued as sarcastic, but he’s being sincere, “Would you miss me if I died?”

Derek carries Stiles from the bedroom as he sighs in annoyance and flicks on the light in the bathroom quickly before moving to set Stiles carefully down, feet firmly on the bottom of the tub, “How much pain are you in right now?” He asks before doing anything else.

“It hurts,” Stiles says plainly and raises a brow, “And you’re deflecting… Would you or would you not miss me?” He asks again.

“I’m not deflecting, you’re pushing your luck,” Derek responds as he reaches out to unbutton Stiles’s shirt with one hand, the other holding him up, “If it’s not obvious after saving you twice, then you’re an idiot.”

Stiles smiles slowly and holds onto Derek’s shoulders, “We need something to cover up the wound,” He says, looking down to watch his partner unbutton his shirt.

“I know,” Derek responds as he glances between the shower and the sink before picking up Stiles again and moving him over so that he can wash his hands before removing the old bandages, “I talked to the doctor and got some ones that are waterproof.”

Stiles tries not to grimace or grunt in discomfort too much, because he knows how overbearing Derek is, “Cool,” He says, and looks down again, stomach rolling as he actually observes the wound, “It’s gonna scar… I’m gonna be covered in scars. Who the fuck is gonna want me now?” He asks rhetorically.

Derek raises a brow and washes his hands again, “I don’t think _scars_ are your problem,” He says flatly as he reaches for the supplies he’s put aside for Stiles.

“No?” Stiles asks in confusion and furrows his brows, legs trembling slightly, “Then what’s my problem, Hale? Enlighten me as to why else no one is going to find me bangable.”

“You obsess over your work too much,” Derek responds, but even **that** is appealing to him, other than it, he couldn’t really complain about a thing, “Most people are attracted to scars,” He says lightly.

“Since when?” Stiles asks incredulously, “And I always thought it was a good thing to be work oriented, to-to have a good work ethic, you know? I’m not lazy, that should be a good thing.”

Derek kneels in front of Stiles for a better angle so that he can carefully put the new bandage on, pressing the edges firm, but also as gently as possible, “Most prefer to leave their work at work, and keep home life and work separate.”

“And I can’t do that,” Stiles says simply, knowing it’s the truth, “Awesome, I’m doomed to a life of perpetually letting people down. I’m never gonna get married, but maybe that’s a good thing. I’m sparing someone the inevitable misery of being with me.”

Derek narrows his brows, and while he can relate, he doesn’t like knowing that **Stiles** is feeling that way, “Stop,” He says firmly and gives Stiles a look as he stands back up, “Don’t think like that, it’s not healthy.” And every time he says that to his partner, he comes off sounding like a textbook, but it’s as empathetic as he can get.

“You know what I need?” Stiles continues on, even though Derek said to stop. The talking helps him keep his mind off of the pain, “I need someone just as work oriented. I mean, that makes sense, right?”

“Right,” Derek agrees mindlessly as he reaches down to tug the younger man’s pants down his legs.

“Wait!” Stiles all but yelps and grabs Derek’s hand, eyes wide as he stares at his partner, “Just-I’d like the dignity of at least pushing my own pants down, as far as I can get them, anyways,” He says, trying to ignore how humiliated he feels.

Derek looks Stiles in the eyes and considers himself for a moment before lifting his own shirt off with one hand, then helping the other man out of his pants completely.

“Relax,” He says as he picks Stiles up and puts him back in the tub, checking to make sure the bandages are holding before he pulls down the shower head and points it away as he turns on the water.

“This is so embarrassing,” Stiles says again and tries to cover himself the best he can, which isn’t much considering he **needs** to keep both hands on Derek, who is also not wearing a shirt, “This isn’t like, one of those ‘I’ll get naked too so you won’t feel so embarrassed’ scenarios is it? Because let me tell you, dude, that would just make it worse.”

“I’m not,” Derek rolls his eyes, “It’d be less embarrassing for you if you stopped thinking it made a difference to me. It’s a body,” A really _nice_ one, and one he wants to do just about everything he **can** do with, but he can act reasonably professional, even if his partner is trying his level best to make things difficult.

“Don’t be surprised if I pop wood,” Stiles says then, trying to cover his bases before something else even more embarrassing happens, “My body associates showers with jacking off, it’s just… It’s a thing.”

Derek makes a motion to his ears and lifts a brow, “I know,” He says before checking the water and lifting the shower head above Stiles at an angle to get his hair soaked.

Stiles clutches at his partner’s bare shoulders and lolls his head back for him, “This is me not freaking out about the fact that I have no privacy around you,” He says squeakily, trying to stay calm, breathing in deep through his nose and out of his mouth.

“Do you want me to tell you about the other things I hear from houses around mine?” Derek asks as he smiles to himself.

“That would probably help,” Stiles admits and looks at Derek, already feeling exhausted, “Yeah.”

“The woman one over sleeps with about five different men a week,” Derek says as he starts massaging shampoo into Stiles’s hair, “The family on the opposite side… Their eighteen year old son constantly brings his girlfriend over and she…” He frowns because he’s not entirely sure of the terminology, “She’s the top.”

“That’s kinda cool,” Stiles closes his eyes when he feels the fingers in his hair, mouth going a little slack, “It’s good to have versatility in a relationship. Maybe Heather wouldn’t have cheated on me if I let her fuck me… But then again, depending on how you look at it, she kinda did.”

“I doubt adding anything to your sex life would’ve changed her mind,” Derek says as he glances down at the bandage to make sure it’s holding up, “Some people become too determined to get out of things they don’t want anymore.”

“I keep bringing her up,” Stiles says and sighs, hands moving a little on Derek’s shoulders, “Half the time I don’t even mean to, I don’t wanna think about her after what she did.”

“You were in a relationship with her for ten years. It’s difficult to avoid talking about someone you were that involved with.”

“Anyways, what else do you hear?”

Derek considers Stiles’s question, “I’ve heard about seventeen different kids in the area experiencing puberty… That’s often uncomfortable.”

Stiles bursts out laughing at that and immediately stops, grunting at the way his stomach tightens up and his fingers curl roughly against his partner’s skin, “Fuck, don’t make me laugh, please.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Derek responds, reaching down to touch the bandage, the tips of his fingers brushing Stiles’s skin and he draws out the pain quickly, “You asked me what else I’d heard. It gets exhausting hearing it over and over again.”

Stiles wets his lips when he feels the pain ebb, trying not to think too much about the hand on his stomach, “ **This** is exhausting,” He says, trying to pull Derek down a little more because his arms are getting tired from being up at such an awkward angle, “I’m gonna sleep for a week after this, I can feel it.”

“Relax, you don’t have to hold yourself up,” Derek says as he rinses out the shampoo, glancing down at his feet and sighing. He sets the shower head back in position and moves into the tub, sitting down on the edge as he pours the body wash onto the sponge and rubs it in, holding Stiles up with one hand placed firmly under his arm.

“My legs are weak,” Stiles says and shakes his head, “I feel like I’m gonna fall if I don’t hold on-and do you really have to sit so close to my dick?”

“Are you homophobic?” Derek asks, raising a brow, “What difference does it make?”

“Homophobic?” Stiles squawks indignantly and narrows his brows at Derek, “You’re fucking kidding, right?” He asks, but he can understand why the older man would think as much, considering the way he’s acting, “I like guys, too. It’s just… We’re bros, and having-you know what, nevermind. I’m just gonna shut up now.”

Derek shakes his head, “This isn’t the last time we’re gonna have to do this, Stilinski, you should get use to it.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that,” Stiles responds dryly and watches as his partner moves the sponge across his skin.

Derek rubs down the younger man’s front from head to foot, not bothering to say anything else before he turns Stiles around. While Stiles should feel comfortable with him, he also can’t really argue the boy’s squeamishness, though he won’t say that aloud - he can handle looking at the younger man’s body without taking advantage of him physically. His thoughts though aren’t so innocent, and he finds himself mindlessly observing the moles on Stiles and how soft his skin is.

“Are we almost done?” Stiles asks and his voice is probably an octave or two higher than it normally is, but he feels more exposed than he ever has in his entire life.

“Almost,” Derek says as he rinses off the soap, standing up and turning off the water before helping Stiles to face his way again, “Are you gonna act like a teenage boy every single time I bathe you?”

“Probably, yeah,” Stiles nods frantically, “I’m not **really** bashful, but I-I’m… I’m not extremely comfortable with my body, either. And the only people that have seen me naked, excluding my dad, are Scott and… She who shall not be named.”

“And me,” Derek add and grabs Stiles’s towel from behind, wrapping it around behind him to dry him, “You’d think a man your age would be more comfortable than that.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Stiles snorts and looks Derek over pointedly.

Derek licks his dry lips, raising his brows, “And I’m telling **you** not to be so self conscious,” He says as he bends down to dry Stiles’s legs.

“Maybe you could like, train me or something,” Stiles muses then and rests his hands back on his partner’s shoulders, “Help me get all beefy like you.”

“You’re lean,” Derek responds as he straightens up and picks up Stiles, moving to the door to take him back into his room, “You wouldn’t look right with too much more width, but it wouldn’t hurt to exercise some more.”

“I’m gonna have to, anyways,” Stiles grumbles, “Didn’t the doctor say something about physical therapy, not letting my legs atrophy, or something about a blood clot?”

Derek nods, “Yeah, even with that, getting back onto your feet and then to work is gonna take some time.” He sets Stiles down on the bed, covering him more for his own comfort before turning to get the younger man a change of clothes.

“And you’re sure Deaton’s okay with me working from home?” Stiles asks, closing his eyes for a moment and pointedly not trying to think about the ache radiating in the lower part of his body, “I dunno why he doesn’t just fire me, ask me for my badge and gun.”

“You’re a good agent, he can’t fault you for being stabbed and then shot,” Derek responds as he returns, looking at the expression on Stiles’s face, “Besides, it’s not like we’re short of paperwork.”

Stiles opens his eyes and looks at Derek, “If it didn’t completely suck and you know, just generally fucking hurt so bad, I’d almost have to laugh at the fact that I’ve been incapacitated almost longer than I’ve actually been on the field. Maybe this wasn’t the job for me.”

“You just stuck your nose where it didn’t belong,” Derek says as he helps Stiles into his shirt, buttoning it for him before helping him back onto his feet to get him into a pair of sweatpants, “Once this is taken care of and Peter’s put out of his misery, I think the likelihood of you getting injured will go down.”

Stiles furrows his brows in confusion and touches Derek’s chest to get his attention, “What do you mean ‘put him out of his misery’?” He asks.

“I think he’d be embarrassed of himself if he knew what he’s become, _whatever_ that is,” Derek shakes his head, “Killing innocent humans… After being burned alive and… Having to watch our family die before his eyes, misery is all he has left.”

“I get that,” Stiles nods, cheeks heating slightly when he realizes the older man still hasn’t put his shirt back on and his hand is flat against Derek’s hairy chest, “That’s not what I was asking. I mean… You said ‘put him out’... Are you gonna kill him?”

Derek nods grimly, “That’s my responsibility,” He says as he tugs the pants up Stiles’s thighs.

“Killing someone for killing doesn’t fix anything, Derek,” Stiles says softly, “Can he not just… Be put in jail? Do you really have to kill him? Letting him wallow in his misery would be a better punishment than killing him.”

“He’s a **werewolf** , Stiles,” Derek responds, “You can’t put a werewolf in jail, there are full moons, not to mention I doubt he’d stand for it. We’re not human. Like I said, it’s my responsibility - as a direct family member, to take care of him and make him pay for the lives he’s taken, direct and indirectly.”

“B-But you’ll…” Stiles gapes at Derek, palm sliding down the older man’s chest a little before letting it drop completely, “You’ll have **killed** someone. Isn’t that enough of a reason for someone else to come along a-and… Do the same to you?”

Derek’s skin tingles where Stiles touches him and then his hand’s gone and he shakes his head, “That’s different. I killed a man that stabbed you in the back. I’ve killed a **lot** of people on the job. Every single one of them deserved it in one way or another. I didn’t kill an innocent, let alone an unknown number of innocents.”

“I still don’t like it,” Stiles says and huffs out a breath, “Can you help me lay down? It’s starting to seriously fucking hurt.”

“I told you to tell me when it gets that bad,” Derek says gruffly and touches the younger man’s bare skin to draw in the pain as he lifts Stiles and lays him down carefully, keeping his hand on his partner’s waist, “You have to understand, we’re not like you. We have to live by different rules.”

Stiles reaches down to touch Derek’s wrist, “Yeah and if it turns out that Peter **is** in some kind of position of power, do you really think someone isn’t going to notice if he goes missing? I don’t want **you** to get caught.”

“Even if I did, it’d be worth it,” The werewolf responds as he looks down, “He’s killing people, Stiles, and he’s probably the reason you’ve been _almost_ killed **twice** now.”

“You’re gonna have to forgive me if I can’t follow the same logic,” Stiles mutters, “You’re not the same withdrawn, rude asshole you used to be. You actually have people that fucking care about you now, and if you get caught… That’s not 'worth it' to me.”

Derek shakes his head in confusion, frowning, “Not worth saving tens if not **hundreds** of lives? Your own included? Stiles, he killed my last partner, or he was involved in it, at least.”

Stiles clenches his jaw and he feels horribly guilty, because no, it’s seriously not worth it to him. He’d risk millions of lives if it meant that he could still have his partner by his side, “Right,” He says bitterly, “Be the fucking hero, then. Whatever.”

Derek narrows his eyes, “I’m not gonna kill him in front of people, chances are if I get to the point where I can _actually_ see him face to face, he’ll be alone. He’ll want to be on his own, he’s been living in the-” He stops and blinks as he starts feeling nervous, “ _Shadows_ …”

“I said whatever,” Stiles repeats, “Clearly you’re not concerned with being around for someone who cares about you, so do what you gotta do. If you do find him and you do kill him, I don’t wanna know.”

“Why are you getting bitter and defensive?” Derek asks as he stares at Stiles, “What’s your problem?”

“It’s nothing,” Stiles lies and looks at Derek plainly, glancing passed him to the door, “Now can I fucking sleep or something?”

“It’s not nothing, I know when you’re lying,” Derek responds, reaching out and touching Stiles’s chin to turn him to look Derek in the eyes, “Why are you getting like this?”

“I don’t know, okay?” Stiles responds with wide, confused eyes, “It’s just, seriously fucking shitty that you make such a huge impact on my life to the point to where I find myself depending on you for damn near everything. And you don’t-you don’t even care if you end up getting caught. Like, it’s still worth it to you. Meanwhile, I’m gonna be without one of my best friends… I-I-” He sighs and clenches his jaw, “Can you please just go? I wanna sleep.”

Derek frowns and pulls his hand away, “Fine,” He says as he stands up and leaves the room.

* * *

Stiles literally holds it until he feels like he’s going to bust, which really isn’t a good thing, considering he’s been shot in the stomach. So along with the urge of having to piss a stream that would rival Niagra Falls, it also makes his stomach hurt. And all of it could’ve been avoided if he’d just gotten over himself and his embarrassment sooner.

“Derek?” He calls out and feels horrible for it, because he knows how needy he’s been and it’s late, and his partner has to be tired.

Derek looks up from his pillows and climbs out of bed, bones popping as he moves to open the door, walking into the hall and into Stiles’s room, “Yeah?” He asks, voice scratchy.

Stiles feels his heart stutter a little at the tone of the older man’s voice and he grimaces, “I have to pee,” He says guiltily.

Derek moves to the bed almost blindly, reaching down to scoop Stiles up from it and carry him back out, he swallows dryly as he tries to wake up, moving Stiles to the bathroom and turning on the light as he holds his partner firmly and yawns sleepily.

“Sorry, big guy,” Stiles mutters and pushes the front of his sweatpants down enough to pull his dick out, aiming at the toilet bowl as he glances back somewhat nervously. Content when he realizes Derek isn’t looking, he lets go and all but groans when his urine starts actually flowing.

“It’s fine,” Derek says and nearly drops his head forward as he starts to fall asleep again, but he straightens up, rolling his shoulders to pop more bones and try to get himself awake enough to finish helping Stiles.

Stiles shakes himself a little when he’s done and tucks himself back in, nudging Derek gently, “Help me to the sink? And don’t carry me, just-just let me walk, but don’t let me fall.”

“Mhm,” Derek hums as he guides Stiles to the sink, trying not to lift him but it’s literally like asking a sleeping bear to drag a stick across the ground without lifting it up.

Stiles chuckles a little to himself when Derek accidentally lifts him up once or twice, but he leans and turns the sink on to wash his hands, drying them after on the hand towel hanging nearby, “Okay, wolfman,” He says, “I’m done.”

Derek picks Stiles back up effortlessly, leaving the bathroom and not even bothering with the light as he walks the younger man back into his room and sets him down on the bed, helping him with the covers before turning to leave and get back to sleep.

“Hey, Der,” It’s a new nickname for sure, one Stiles hasn’t really ever used before, but the older man is so out of it he doesn’t think he’ll mind, “Would you um-” He purses his lips and the guilt intensifies, because his partner looks like a large, sleepy bear who just wants to hibernate and it’s… It’s adorable, but in a totally platonic way.

“Can you get me some water?” He asks, because his throat is dry.

“Mhm,” Derek responds numbly as he leaves the room and _almost_ makes the mistake of going into his own before he corrects his footing, walking into the kitchen and turning on the light. Though he does it, it results in him closing his eyes tightly and walking blindly to the counter to grab a glass. He puts an ice cube in it, pours the water before moving back to Stiles’s room and to the boy’s bed to hand it over.

Stiles takes the glass tentatively and offers his partner a weak smile, even though he’s a hundred percent sure Derek’s practically sleep walking at this point. He sips at the liquid and sits it down on the stand next to the bed, trying to will the sudden pang of pain in his stomach away.

“M’night,” Derek says as he reaches up to scratch his beard, turning around and walking back out of the room, almost walking into the door frame on the way out.

Stiles grimaces and squints in the general direction of his door, “Hale, wait,” He says in a rush of breath.

“Hmm?” Derek asks as he stops and turns back, blinking to open his eyes, “What, Stiles?”

“I’m hurting,” Stiles tells him and smiles ruefully, “Would you mind just-just um… Would you mind?”

“No, I don’t mind,” Derek all but slurs as he moves to Stiles’s bed, kneeling down beside it and reaching out for Stiles’s hand, taking it in both of his.

“Thanks, buddy,” Stiles says lowly and watches his partner, more appreciative for the older man than he could ever really voice.

Derek nods as he smooths his palm along Stiles’s wrist and forearm, his head dropping against the sheets as he starts falling asleep.

Stiles begins to open his mouth to say something, but he’s effectively silenced by the large, warm hand moving against his skin and the older man’s general tiredness. So he doesn’t say anything at all, and just smiles fondly at the werewolf before closing his eyes as well.

* * *

When Stiles wakes up, he knows it’s early, because the sun isn’t even slotting in through the blinds yet. There’s just the soft, iridescent glow to the room and he smacks his lips quietly, rolling his head to the side and grinning dopily at the fact that Derek’s still half on and half off of the bed. It makes his chest hurt almost, seeing the older man this way, but he swallows nervously when he realizes that it isn’t particularly a **bad** hurt.

He lifts his free hand, the one not tangled with both of Derek’s and very carefully touches his partner’s soft looking hair, running his fingers through the short, tousled locks in a gentle attempt at waking him up, because he knows laying like that can’t be comfortable.

Derek lets out a huff of breath through his nose and looks up and around, “Hmm?” He says before his eyes are even open and he drops his head back down, hands sliding over Stiles’s skin as he starts falling asleep again.

Stiles softly scratches his fingers against his partner’s scalp and grins wider, “ _Derek_ ,” He whispers, trying to get him to fully wake up.

“What?” Derek says as his brows narrow and he turns his head into the soft touch of fingers scratching his head, “Mmm.”

“Come on, big guy,” Stiles says affectionately, scratching further back behind his partner’s left ear before carding his fingers through the soft hair again, “Wake up.”

Derek starts to groan aloud and stops, opening his eyes and glancing around before he realizes where he is and he looks up at Stiles, “Did I fall asleep?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says lowly, trying to wipe the smile from his face as he very reluctantly pulls his hand from the werewolf’s hair.

Derek starts to get up limply, standing from the floor, “Sorry,” He mutters as he turns slowly and tries to lick his dry lips as he leaves the room. He can barely even remember getting up, all he can think of his helping Stiles to go take a piss and that’s about where it cuts off.

[MageStiles](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/) ϟ [Sparklinski](http://sparklinski.tumblr.com/)


	21. Don't Push Me

Derek lays Stiles down carefully on the edge of the bed, glancing down at the awkward expression on his partner’s face as he reaches down to lift the younger man’s left leg, bending the knee and pressing it up towards his chest, “If it hurts too much, just tell me and I’ll ease it.”

“I think my pride hurts worse than my stomach right now,” Stiles mutters and grunts softly at the bend of his leg - the stretch feels nice, but it’d feel even nicer if he didn’t have a hole in his stomach.

Derek rolls his eyes, “It isn’t as bad as you’re making it out to be,” he says as he holds the leg in place, “I’m surprised you have any pride after pissing on my hand yesterday.”

“That was an accident!” Stiles slings an arm up over his face and shakes his head, “You said you weren’t gonna bring it up, you lying ass.”

“You’re the one acting like a child,” Derek responds as he watches his partner’s face, “This is nothing compared to everything else that’s happened in the past week,” he lets Stiles’s leg go carefully, “How’s your stomach?”

“Probably exactly like you’d imagine,” Stiles says sardonically, peeking up at Derek from under his arm, “I was shot in the stomach - it hurts, pretty much all the time.”

“You were shot in the stomach?” Derek asks flatly as he lifts Stiles’s other leg, “Shut up, Stilinski.”

“You think you’re funny, but you’re really not.”

Derek smirks and pushes the younger man’s leg up to his chest, “I could say the same about you.”

“Please,” Stiles groans and his mouth goes a little slack, the arm on his face slipping off to the bed above his head, “I’m hilarious,” he utters out lowly.

Derek swallows nervously and moves back as he keeps the leg bent, Stiles’s knee in the air, “About as hilarious as your current disposition,” which is to say not hilarious at all, but Stiles knows he isn’t as serious as he’d like to be, “Lift your foot.”

“Derek,” Stiles whines and pouts up at the werewolf, “I was shot in the stomach, why do I **have** to do this? It’s uncomfortable.”

“Stop complaining,” Derek says and flashes his eyes in warning, “ **Lift** your foot.”

“That’s new,” Stiles breathes and does as he’s told, mouth still hanging open a bit as he stares at his partner, only wincing slightly at the exertion.

Derek smiles to himself when Stiles listens and he watches, “Hold it for thirty seconds, as high as you can.”

“This is bullshit,” Stiles grunts, face reddening from the strain as he keeps his foot held high, “I hate you,” he lies, “Hate you so much, oh my God.”

“As long as it motivates you to keep that leg lifted, I don’t really care,” Derek responds as he counts in his head, “It’s necessary.”

“You do **so** care,” Stiles grits out with a heavy breath, looking pointedly up at his partner, “You care so hard, otherwise you wouldn’t be doing this.”

Derek wets his lips, “Fifteen more seconds,” he says as his cheeks heat and he tries not to be so obvious about it, looking away from Stiles’s face as he continues to keep his partner’s thigh lifted.

“I’m gonna die,” Stiles wails dramatically and makes some embarrassing high pitched sound, something akin to a sigh, “Can I let it down now?”

“Ten seconds,” Derek says firmly, “Keep it up,” he doesn’t mean for the words to come out _quite_ like they do, but he doesn’t point it out.

“You should seriously rephrase that,” Stiles groans out miserably, “Maybe add a word or something. Like, ‘keep your leg up’, or like, ‘keep it up - your leg, not your dick’. Not that I could even get it up right now anyway, but still.”

“Shut up, Stilinski,” Derek responds and lets his leg back down, lifting the other and motioning with his head, “Thirty seconds.”

“Derek, I **can’t** ,” Stiles says insistently, hands moving to grab the sheets, “My stomach muscles are still fucked up, I can’t hold it for that long. It hurts.”

“If you think this is bad, it’s only going to get worse if you wait - do you want to go back to work on the field? Do you wanna recover at all?”

“I do,” Stiles huffs, “But this is-it’s fucking torture. Can’t we do some more of the feely-good stretch things?”

Derek lifts a brow, not sure what ‘feely-good stretches’ are supposed to be, but he cuts Stiles some slack for the moment, “Like?”

“Like how you were pushing my legs up,” Stiles tells him, “That, I wanna do that. It feels nice.”

“Two of those, and then you’re lifting this foot,” Derek says pointedly, lifting said leg and pushing it up towards his partner’s chest.

Stiles lets out a soft breath and then chuckles, “This is like, a really awkward sex position, I’m sure of it. I feel like I’ve seen a porno start this way.”

Derek frowns at his body’s response and thankfully he has a long enough frame that Stiles would be none the wiser, “Right…” he mutters as he holds the leg in place and stares at Stiles.

“It was a joke. You’re supposed to laugh, like _ha ha_. I’m trying to make light of the situation, grump.”

“It’s not working,” Derek responds shortly before letting off, setting the younger man’s leg down as he swaps, “How’s your stomach?”

“It hurts. You know, like I told you about five minutes ago. It hasn’t changed any since then.”

Derek nods, “Good, tell me if it changes,” he says as he holds Stiles’s leg and stares at him again, not bothering to try and turn away, even though it’s awkward still.

Stiles stares back and wets his lips, breath hitching slightly with the pleasurable stretch of his leg, “You could just put your hands on me,” he swallows, “I mean, to draw some of the pain away. It’s not like you haven’t been doing it a lot lately, anyways.”

Derek’s body heats at the sound Stiles makes and he responds gruffly, “I need to know what movements cause you pain, it’s best I don’t draw away any during this, unless it becomes unbearable.”

“So you’re not gonna help me until I’m a sobbing mess? Don’t tempt me, I can cry on demand.”

“Now that you’ve told me, I’ll know you’re faking it,” Derek says back as he releases Stiles’s leg, lifting the other up and motioning to it, “Thirty seconds, Stiles.”

Stiles growls and throws both arms up over his face, shirt riding up as he struggles to keep his leg up the way he needs to. The burn in his stomach is what makes it hurt so badly, having to use the abused muscles when he’s still sore, “Can you count aloud or something? This is stupid.”

Derek chuckles and starts counting, watching the foot balanced in the air as he holds up the rest.

“Closer to the base of my thigh,” Stiles grunts, “Move your hands, it’s not enough support. I’m gonna fucking bust my stitches open.”

“No you’re not,” Derek interrupts his counting, moving his hand lower and sighing in annoyance as he continues, trying not to think of how close he is to the younger man.

“Why can’t you just turn me into a werewolf?” Stiles asks rhetorically, because he knows he wouldn’t want it - he just doesn’t want to **have** to deal with this.

Derek finishes and sets Stiles’s leg back down, taking the other and pushing it up to his chest again, “The bite is a gift,” He responds as he watches the younger man, “But it comes at a price, sometimes.”

“Being able to heal faster would be fucking nice, is all I’m saying,” Stiles touches Derek’s hands with his own, trying to help his partner, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so weak, so damn helpless.”

“I’d heal you if I could,” Derek says and glances at the boy’s hand, “The bite doesn’t always work out right. Some people reject it, it could kill you.” He lifts Stiles’s calve up, “Arch your foot.”

“Derek,” Stiles moans softly, wincing, but arching his foot, “I don’t really want the bite. I just-I don’t wanna fucking hurt all the time.”

Derek nods and settles his hand on the bed by Stiles’s head, “That makes two of us.”

“You don’t wanna hurt all the time?” Stiles asks stupidly.

“No, you idiot,” Derek responds as he glares at Stiles, “I don’t want **you** to hurt all the time,” he says before he realizes how unusually intimate and concerned it sounds, “Every time I turn around, you’re getting stabbed, or shot…”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighs weakly, still staring up at Derek, “Sorry about that, I guess,” he mutters, intrigued by how the older man’s tone betrays the glare set firmly in place.

Derek shakes his head, “It’s not your fault,” He pulls back then, doing the same to the opposite leg, “You were just trying to find out the truth,” he motions to Stiles’s foot, “Arch it,” he says as he rests his other arm by Stiles’s head.

Stiles arches it at once and even though he knows he should look away, glance at something else in the room, he can’t. “You’re really bossy,” he points out.

“If I’m not, you’ll just whine and bitch until you get your way.”

“I don’t whine and bitch that much,”

“Because I’m bossy, and I don’t take your shit like **most** people do. That’s why I’m your partner.”

“I disagree,” Stiles says, grinning, “Because I know how I am, and I’ve purposefully pushed at your buttons before, and you’ve never done anything about it. And you’ve hurt other people for less. So yeah, I think you actually do take my shit, even more so than other people do.”

Derek stares at Stiles and it’s obvious from that point, why he’s so easy on the younger man. He doesn’t see how his partner doesn’t see it as well, considering it’s blatantly obvious, but Derek doesn’t bother giving it to him that easily.

As much as he wants to tell Stiles how he feels, there are other things that need to be done before that, and saying it now would make things even **more** awkward between them.

He sits up and pulls back, “I think that’s enough for today, we’ll do more tomorrow, but I need to get started on dinner before it gets too late.”

“Uh yeah,” Stiles furrows his brows in confusion, unsure of what it was about what he said that seems to make his partner want to put distance between them, “Right, okay,” he says, trying to nod in understanding.

* * *

Since he’s been getting less and less sleep these days, Derek normally stays in a half-awake state, just incase Stiles needs him. Most of the time it’s an over-precaution, he’s aware of how paranoid he is, but considering his partner’s been stabbed **and** shot now, there’s not much point in ignoring his instincts.

He feels guilty even thinking it, but he kind of waits every night **to** get woken up for some reason or another, so when he hears the soft, pained whimpers in the middle of the night, he’s up almost at once, walking out of his room, down the hall, and into Stiles’s.

The younger man doesn’t have a fever, so he figures that Stiles has just become painfully uncomfortable in his sleep, probably from the exercises they’ve been doing. He sits on the edge of the bed, taking Stiles’s hand in both of his and drawing the pain in to ease him back to sleep.

Stiles isn’t sure what it is exactly that wakes him up, but he blinks in the darkness of the room and is immediately grateful to see Derek sitting next to him. His whole body feels tense, but he notices the pain easing slowly and he narrows his brows, “What’s up?” he slurs, voice sleep heavy.

“You were making sounds in your sleep,” Derek responds, sounding just about the same, “Is it better, now?”

“I think,” Stiles nods and wets his lips, closing his eyes again for a moment, “Sorry for waking you.”

“It’s okay,” Derek dismisses him immediately, watching Stiles closely for a moment before he pulls away, “Just get some sleep.”

Stiles’s eyes shoot open at once and he grabs Derek’s wrist, feeling oddly vulnerable and clingy, not wanting his partner to go anywhere, “Stay?” he asks softly, grimacing as he moves out from the middle of the bed the best he can to make more room.

Derek frowns and looks at the space offered on the bed before taking it. He probably shouldn’t, but he’s tired and he doesn’t want to argue with Stiles or upset the younger man; it’s just easier to agree. He lays down beside Stiles and reaches out for his hand to continue easing his pain.

“When you complain in the morning, I’m pointing at you.”

Stiles curls his fingers around Derek’s and grins lazily, “I didn’t complain last time you fell asleep in here,” he says, tugging the covers up and slinging them over his partner.

“Last time I wasn’t in bed with you,” Derek mutters as he breathes slowly, glancing back to Stiles’s face and feeling his insides twist as he stares at his partner, if only it was like this every night.

“I’m not gonna complain,” Stiles informs him hoarsely, turning his head into his pillow some, “Shut up, Hale. **Sleep**.”

* * *

“I was gonna tell you that we didn’t get a hit on that DNA, the day I came home and you were all growly and shit,” Stiles starts, looking through the documents spread out on his lap as he sighs and moves his foot, hooking it over top of Derek’s.

“But I figure you know that by now. Has anything else come up?” he nudges the older man’s ankle with his toes, “Hand me the file on the other side of you?”

“Nothing else has come up,” Derek says as he grabs the file and gives it to Stiles, “Most serial killer cases are a lot slower than they appear to be.”

“Mm,” Stiles hums to himself and takes the file, “We need evidence,” he's a little off topic, but he levels the older man with a pointed look, knowing he’ll understand, “How do we even find… 'Him'.”

“His scent, most likely,” Derek says thoughtfully, “I know all three well enough, but if we’re **really** unfortunate, he’ll find us.”

“With my luck, it wouldn’t really surprise me,” Stiles responds and huffs out a breath, looking up from all of the work to the dresser in the room, “How are you like, the only person in the world who doesn’t have a television in their bedroom?” he asks, pouting slightly.

“We’re working.”

“I know that, captain obvious,” Stiles retorts, shaking his head at Derek, “But when I’m not working, being able to watch TV would be fucking nice. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I don’t really watch TV, why would I bother getting one?”

Stiles sighs and shakes his head, looking away from the older man to focus back on work, “No reason, I guess.”

“... Do you want one?”

Stiles pokes Derek in the ribs with the file in his hand “If I say 'no reason', or something vague or akin to nevermind or drop it - then let it go. It’s not fair of you to ask a question I can’t lie to,” He says firmly.

“I’m not asking a question I **want** you to lie to. If you want a TV for the room, that’s your preference. Get one.”

Stiles chuckles suddenly, although it’s somewhat dry, “Right, I’ll just… Get up out of this bed and drive myself to the store, load me up a TV and bring it back. Because I’m **able** ,” he says sarcastically.

“I didn’t mean physically, smart ass,” Derek mutters as he looks back down to his paperwork.

“Then what the fuck are you even talking about?” Stiles asks and puts his hands out in confusion, file drooping from one, “If I give you the money, will you go get me one?”

“When you’re better. I’m not leaving you in the house on your own until you can do things for yourself.”

“It will take you all of half an hour to run to the store, grab me a TV and come back. I think I can survive without you for half an hour. If you wait 'til I’m better, it will have kinda defeated the purpose.”

Derek shakes his head, “I’m not leaving the house until you can take care of yourself.”

“Call Scott and have him babysit me or something then, you’re being ridiculous,” Stiles says, trying not to get all huffy at the older man.

“Stiles,” Derek growls as he looks at his partner, “You were shot, and there’s a werewolf that wants to kill you, if you haven’t already forgotten. I’m not leaving the house and leaving you vulnerable. Even if I could convince McCall, it wouldn’t be enough. When you were in the hospital, I didn’t leave unless there were more than ten people in the same room as you.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but both times someone’s tried to kill me, it didn’t work,” Stiles points out, “I’m like a fucking cat or something, I think I have nine lives. You’re overreacting-hey if I was a cat, would we get along? What with you being a dog and all, not like a dog dog, but you know what I mean.”

Derek ignores the question and opts for responding to the first comment, “The reason you haven’t died is because **I’ve** been there to take care of you.”

Stiles sighs and deflates, “I just want a fucking TV, Derek,” he says defeatedly, “The walls of the house only provide so much entertainment. Still think you should take me up on the offer to play I spy.”

“You’ll get a TV when you can walk to the bathroom,” Derek responds and rolls his eyes, “Consider it… Incentive to do your exercises.”

“I can do it right now,” Stiles says confidently, “I will totally get up and force my ass into the bathroom if it means you’ll go get me a TV.”

Derek shakes his head, “When you can do it without hurting yourself severely; and if you try to do it now, I’ll strap you down to the bed.”

“Sounds kinky,” Stiles quips and chuckles, “What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever done in bed with a woman?” he asks curiously, “My sex life is so… Vanilla, you know? I need to live vicariously through you.”

“I had sex with a woman I didn’t even really know, in order to get information about her drug dealer.”

“Derek,” Stiles pleads, “Talking with you is my entertainment, so don’t go getting all short and shit with me… Not that that’d even be possible, but still.”

Derek looks at Stiles and sighs as he puts his pen down, “Before Christy, I hadn’t had sex in over five years. It’s not something I do **often**.”

“Well, how many people have you had sex with?”

“Five.”

“Dude, nice,” Stiles nods and then frowns, “God, I lost my virginity to the same girl I spent the better part of my life with. How boring is that? I told you it was vanilla.”

“What’s vanilla?”

“Boring,” Stiles answers, “So… Tell me about them, what’d they look like? Feel free to exclude Christy.”

Derek doesn’t particularly like talking about his past experiences with sex, considering one of them was Kate, he’s not sure what Stiles is hoping to hear, so he decides to start in the most likely way that might make him stop asking, “My first was Kate Argent.”

“Okay. And I think we both know she was a psycho bitch, but was she hot?”

Derek narrows his eyes in annoyance and shrugs, “She was older, and I was fifteen, I don’t think I would’ve been a good judge on appearances then - too prone to over-romanticize her.”

“Okay, so… Kate and Christy aside, how were the rest?”

“The last, before Christy, was Jennifer,” Derek explains flatly, “She was… Generally attractive I guess - to me she was - kind, smart, a high school teacher.”

Stiles nods thoughtfully, “Were you guys serious? What happened?”

“I wasn’t serious, she was.”

“I can… Empathize,” Stiles says softly, “Who was the best sex you ever had?”

“None of them. Are you done asking questions?”

“No, that’s such a load of bullshit,” Stiles stares at his partner, “One of them had to be better than the rest. All I know about are Kate, Christy and Jennifer. There’s two more, big guy. Spill it.”

Derek sets his paperwork down and moves from the bed, untangling the best he can from Stiles without falling and he stands up straight to look at his partner, “I’m not telling you about the other two. And if I _had_ to say that one was ‘best’, it would probably be Christy, are you **done** asking questions?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says bitterly and looks away from Derek, because he literally feels like he’s going to be sick over the fact that _Christy_ was Derek’s best, “Go.”

Derek narrows his brows at how petulant Stiles is being, but he doesn’t let it get to him, **he** was the one being practically interviewed by an insensitive, prying brat.

* * *

Stiles pushes the green beans around on his plate and looks up every so often to glance at Derek. He hasn’t been able to think about anything else since the older man told him that Christy was his best fuck. It doesn’t really make any sense to him, either, because he shouldn’t care so much. But if he doesn’t ask, it’ll probably literally drive him insane.

“Why her?” he asks suddenly, laying his fork down to put both of his hands in his lap, looking at Derek plainly, “Why Christy?”

“Personal reasons.”

“I live with you. And I know that you’re a werewolf. Why can’t you just tell me?”

“Stiles,” Derek starts and takes a breath, “There are some things… You don’t talk about with **other** people. No matter how close you are, it’s personal, that’s… _Why_ it’s personal.”

“Forget it, then,” Stiles shakes his head and grabs his plate, using one hand to push himself up to his feet.

Derek stands up, reaching out to force his partner back down in his seat, looking Stiles firmly in the eyes, “Stop.”

“ **You** stop,” Stiles responds, eyes widening as he stands back up again, “You gotta stop treating me like a fucking baby all the time. Let me test myself, _you’re worse than Heather_.”

Derek growls at the comment and slams his hands down on the table, feeling it crack and bow under his palms.

Stiles doesn’t so much as flinch at Derek, he just clutches his stomach with one hand and moves painstakingly slow to put his plate in the sink.

If Derek wants to keep things from him, then that’s fine, but if he sticks around and stays in the same room, he knows he’s not going to stop pushing for an answer - and after the full moon incident, he’s learned to not push so hard.

Derek sits back down and tests the table warily, “Sit down.”

Stiles makes it to the sink and puts his plate in, standing there for a moment to brace himself on the counter, “I will, when I get back to the fucking bedroom.”

“ **Stiles** ,” Derek warns him, voice lowering, “Just sit down, **here**.”

“No,” Stiles says stubbornly, turning to look at Derek with furrowed brows, “You don’t get to just… Fucking keep shit from me and then tell me what to do. If I wanna go back to the bedroom, I’m gonna go back to the bedroom, so you can just take your stupid werewolf temper and shove it up your ass.”

Derek stands from the table and moves to Stiles, grabbing his arm and stopping him as he looks down at the younger man, “ **Why do you have to push me**?”

“I’m leaving the goddamn room so I **don’t** push, you moody asshole,” Stiles pulls his arm away and winces at the way his torso twists, causing his stomach to hurt.

Derek growls and frowns, reaching down to Stiles’s waist, pushing his hand under the shirt to touch his skin as he moves closer, “ **Leaving won’t help**.”

Stiles’s breath hitches because of the hand against his flesh and he shrugs weakly, “Yes it will, and it’s… Obvious you don’t wanna talk, so really, I’m doing us both a favor.”

“ **Stiles** ,” Derek says again as he clenches his jaw, grabbing the younger man’s waist with his free hand as he backs him up against the counter, “ **You’re not**.”

“Y-You don’t like it when I push,” Stiles stammers nervously, heart racing as he stares up at Derek, “And if I don’t-if I don’t leave the room, all I’m gonna do is get on your nerves,” he breathes out the last part, warily putting a hand on his partner’s arm.

Derek growls low at the touch, the sound of Stiles’s voice, and he drops his head to stare into Stiles’s eyes, his own glancing down to the younger man’s lips, “ **Stiles** …”

“Derek?” Stiles can feel his cheeks heat and he blinks slowly up at the older man, “A-A-Are you okay?” he asks, honestly a little afraid to move.

The werewolf lifts Stiles, setting him on the counter as he moves in closer and presses his nose to his partner’s neck, scenting him and growling as his hands brush Stiles’s skin, “ **No**.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Stiles says lowly and his eyes widen, reaching up with trembling hands to touch Derek’s shoulders and it literally feels like his heart is going to explode right out of his chest or something.

“Well, um…” he wets his lips and ignores the way little goosebumps rise all over his skin, “Is it your time of the month, big guy? You uh…” he pushes gently at the older man’s shoulders, “You wanna go lay down?”

Derek reaches down with his right hand to grab Stiles’s thigh as he opens his mouth and licks a long stripe up the boy’s neck, growling in approval as he turns, stubble scratching Stiles’s jaw as he breathes, “Yeah.”

“ _Oh my God_ ,” Stiles squeaks and pushes at Derek’s shoulders harder, “Derek, buddy, I dunno what the fuck is wrong with you, but you need to snap out of it.” Preferably before he gets a boner. It’s not really anything personal, it’s just that physical interaction of this sort, regardless of who it comes from, is going to arouse him.

“ **Want** ,” Derek moans as his hand moves from Stiles’s thigh to press against the crotch of his pants, his chest heaving as he tries to pull Stiles closer.

“W-Well I don’t,” Stiles mutters a little louder, tears pricking at his eyes as he begins to panic, “Derek, stop it!” He says firmly, stomach twinging as he shoves at his partner.

Derek blinks and stills as he smells the fear and he pulls back, looking at Stiles in confusion before he pulls the younger man carefully from the counter and sets him down, then takes a couple steps back, “Stiles…” He pants as he closes his eyes and tries to breathe out of his mouth only, “I’m sorry, I-” He looks around the kitchen and moves to clear the table.

Stiles keeps his distance from Derek and regards him cautiously, eyes still glassy as he backs up towards the kitchen door, “I’m gonna go to bed,” He mumbles, unsure of what the fuck just happened, “N-Night,” He says nervously.

Derek nods silently as he keeps his back turned, lifting the plates as the table creaks and he moves to the sink to wash them as he tries not to think of the feeling of the boy’s body, the taste of his skin, his strong scent filling Derek’s nose.

[MageStiles](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/) ϟ [Sparklinski](http://sparklinski.tumblr.com/)


	22. Do You Want?

Derek sets the plate down in front of Stiles before joining him at the table, after weeks of being in the same house together, he’s gotten everything timed well enough that he can prepare breakfast before the younger man’s even awake.

He sets his elbows on the table and looks at his partner, “We need to talk about last night.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Stiles says dismissively, avoiding Derek’s eyes entirely as he barely even picks food from his plate.

“Don’t dismiss it,” Derek responds sharply, “I know you were upset, and with reason. I… I can’t excuse how I acted, but you need to know-it won’t happen again.”

Stiles doesn’t respond verbally, he’s still kind of worked up (and shocked) over last night. He nods, though, and very briefly glances up at Derek.

Derek watches the younger man and reaches out for his fork, “I’m in heat.”

Stiles’s eyes dart to Derek’s more insistently then and even though he’s still wigging out over what happened, he can’t help but snort and smile slowly, hand coming up to cover the chuckle that spills from his mouth, “Like a _dog_?” he asks in amusement.

“Not quite,” Derek responds shortly, hardly amused by his partner’s response, “Can you name a dog that can lift cars? More like a werewolf.”

“I dunno, Cujo could fuck a car up if he really wanted to,” Stiles says, removing his hand and looking away from his partner to observe how suddenly interesting his food is.

“I know it doesn’t excuse my actions, but I’m sorry.”

“I-Is it like-is it something I should be prepared for from now on?”

“Not likely,” Derek says and shakes his head, “Since there’s the ' _Were **'**_ part of ‘Werewolf’, it’s often sporadic, brought on by something, normally. Like you asking me about the people I’ve slept with, things I think during and afterwards...”

“Oh,” Stiles mutters and tries not to appear so disappointed at that, “So, you’re telling me that you thinking about Christy brings on some kind of sporadic wolfy heat that I just so happen to catch the brunt of?”

Derek shakes his head, “No, it wasn’t thinking about her. It was… Various things, it’s difficult to explain,” _or it’d be easier if he could elaborate on his own, personal feelings for Stiles_ , “When I told you that she was the best I’d had, it wasn’t because of reasons you seem to think, it had nothing to do with her, or the sex.”

“I don’t care,” Stiles shakes his head and tries to force himself to eat a piece of bacon, maybe that will actually make him seem like he’s acting somewhat normal, “You didn’t wanna tell me last night, so I don’t need to know now.”

“It’s personal,” Derek responds and reaches out to touch his partner’s hand tentatively, “You can’t constantly push at me and expect me to give way at once, I’m not a door.”

“I know that,” Stiles withdraws his hand, “Which is why I attempted leaving the room last night, so I’d stop pushing. I’m not pushing right now, you’re the one trying to explain.”

“Exactly,” Derek confirms as he keeps his hand where it is, “I’m trying to explain now, and in your own way, you’re still pushing, and being stubborn. You care - I’m not an idiot, I can tell when you’re lying. And I’d know even if I wasn’t able to hear your heart beats. For whatever reason, you constantly care about things that make no sense at all to me.”

Stiles puts his fork on his plate, causing it to clink sharply as he looks at the werewolf sternly, “Are you done?” he asks, because he doesn’t want to sit here and be analyzed over how he feels, especially when it doesn’t make any sense to him either.

“No,” Derek answers quickly, standing up from his spot, moving around the table and taking the seat next to Stiles so he can keep their eyes locked.

“I’m not questioning it, but you need to understand how I work, you can’t keep pushing at me, because I **am** a werewolf, and I’ll split you in half if you push too much. I don’t understand why you get bitter, but you’re gonna have to meet me halfway, instead of acting like a child when you don’t get what you want.”

“I’m not fucking pushing,” Stiles responds, raising his voice slightly as he stares at Derek, “And no, I’m not ‘pushing in my own way’. I’m literally not asking you anything, I’m not pestering you, I’m actually leaving you alone for once and now you’re pushing **me**. I won’t pry for answers anymore, okay? Is that what you wanna hear?”

“No, it’s not,” Derek says and stands up, moving to clean up his practically untouched breakfast, throwing the food and dishes in the trash before leaving the room.

Stiles clenches his jaw and looks down at his own plate. He’d probably do the same if he weren’t so concerned about them becoming short on dishes, so he just leaves it there and limps out of the kitchen as well, heading for his room.

* * *

The next three days pass quickly for Derek, curled up in his room during the last of his heat and the passing of the full moon, he doesn’t even eat until the day after, and he’s starving, sluggish and lazy, barely remembering his conversations with Stiles and coming onto him (or almost raping him, depending on how you look at it).

He becomes quickly concerned with what the younger man’s been eating while he’s been out of the loop, and can smell that Stiles hasn’t bathed, though from the smell of the bathroom, it seems like he tried at some point and made a mess.

He’d be concerned if he didn’t know that Stiles is probably **safer** during full moons, even though Derek is his least in control then, he would’ve known if anyone in the area was even mildly considering causing harm. The thing he’s worried about most is food, and Stiles’s injury, but even lifting himself from the bed is difficult to do.

Derek forces his feet in front of one another slowly until he’s in front of the freezer, pulling out a few things for dinner and then moving to the refrigerator to prepare what is normally a mix of breakfast and lunch, cooking mindlessly as his eyes droop closed and he listens to Stiles in the back room. He turns to the table, remembering it was broken at some point, and starts disassembling it to put up a new one.

Stiles hears the movement around the house and he’s had enough silence the past three days to last him a lifetime. He can’t handle not talking, especially not talking to someone he actually cares about.

His stomach is sore and he can _literally_ almost smell himself, but he forces himself up off of the bed anyway, carefully walking to the kitchen and stopping by the door, his hair laying flat against his head because it’s so greasy.

“Hey.”

Derek finishes fixing the table and turning it onto it’s legs before looking at Stiles and nodding silently before moving back to the stove as he yawns and scratches his stomach.

“Do you just have a stock of things around somewhere?” Stiles asks and hobbles over to the new table, sitting down at it, “Because I know you didn’t leave.”

“ _Garage_ ,” Derek mutters as he sets the three pots to boil slower, moving to the refrigerator and pulling out the next carton of eggs and the milk.

“Need any help?” Stiles asks and gestures about vaguely with his hand.

Derek breathes deeply through his nose and shakes his head, “ _No_ ,” he says shortly as he starts opening the packages of bacon.

“Okay then,” Stiles responds and raises his brows, turning more towards the table and laying his forearms against the surface.

Derek cooks silently, preparing things and frowning at the lack of dishes so he sighs and looks at Stiles, “ _Watch the bacon_ ,” he mutters before he opens the door on the right wall, going in and taking down another package of plates, returning to the kitchen and setting them on the counter as he extends a claw to tear them out.

“Neat trick,” Stiles mumbles in awe as he watches the older man from his seat at the table.

“ _Hmm_?”

“The claw thing,” Stiles says and sticks his fingers out for emphasis, “It’s cool.”

“ _Mm_ ,” Derek responds as he starts washing and preparing each plate and setting them out on the table, “ _Yeah_ …”

Stiles nods to himself then and rests his head against his palms, rubbing his face as he tries to recall if conversation has ever been this stiff between them.

Derek turns off the stove and finally sits at the table, his head dropping as he tries to will himself awake and he slumps, his chin resting on the table as he closes his eyes.

“Tired?” Stiles asks conversationally, reaching across the table mindlessly to brush his fingers through the older man’s hair.

“ _Mm_ ,” Derek says in an attempt to confirm and the fingers touching him feel nice. He licks his lips as he smells the food and huffs finally, sitting up a little to take his fork and start in on the eggs first - the faster he eats, the sooner he’ll be awake enough to form words.

Stiles’s hand falls from Derek’s hair when he sits up, so he pulls it back and grabs his fork. Three days of barely getting by with boxes of macaroni and cheese, so he’s more than ready for a half decent meal, “Thanks for cooking.”

“ _Mhm_ ,” Derek hums as he chews and looks at Stiles sleepily, “ _You’re not allowed to get shot again._ ”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Stiles says slowly and the corner of his mouth twists up into a weak grin as he takes a bite of food.

“ _We need to get you something better to eat while I’m…_ ” Derek narrows his brows and shakes his head, “ _Just call delivery or something._ ”

“Okay,” Stiles nods and chews the food unhurriedly, wanting to savor it.

Derek all but inhales his food, becoming more aware of himself as he continues. He still feels sluggish, body worn from the full moon, but he’s not quite as out of it as he was ten minutes before.

“Kate killed my entire family, so I can’t think of the things I did with her without feeling like an idiot. The other two I slept with after it happened… I wasn’t in a healthy mindset, and Jennifer - I used her. The only reason why I said Christy was the best is because it’s the only one I can even consider being… In a good frame of mind at the time, even if it was just to get information - she wanted me and she didn’t expect anything, and that was it.”

Stiles looks up from his plate and searches the older man’s face, wanting to say something like ‘you don’t need to explain anything’, but he knows he’ll just get a roll of the eyes from Derek and a short, huffy response.

“I’m sorry for pushing so much,” he says, narrowing his brows a little as he keeps his eyes locked with his partner’s, “I don’t do it to piss you off.”

“You mean well,” Derek responds in understanding, “Even if it doesn’t _end_ well. It’s fine… I’m just as ‘vanilla’ as you.”

“You’re a werewolf,” Stiles scoffs lightly, then takes another bite of food, “That’s hardly what I’d call vanilla.”

Derek nods and forks his sausage, “My sex life doesn’t reflect as much.”

“Boring sex is still sex. And sex of any sort, even if it’s boring, is still pretty good. So… I guess it’s not so bad being vanilla, yeah?”

“I avoid it as much as possible,” Derek admits then, “It’s not easy controlling myself when I get excited. I could shift, or knot them, and if they don’t know what I am-I avoid it as much as possible.”

Stiles tries not to choke on his eggs, but they get a little stuck when Derek says ‘knot’ and he coughs some to clear his throat, “Did you say **knot**?”

Derek frowns and reaches across the table to pat Stiles’s back and look at him in concern, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Stiles breathes and looks at Derek with wide eyes, “But when you say ‘knot’, you literally mean like a bulbous fucking knot at the base of your dick, right?”

Derek sits back down and nods, “... Yeah,” he breathes out as he wolfs down his eggs and shrugs, “I thought you already knew that.”

“How would I have **known** that?” Stiles asks and picks up a piece of bacon, crunching on it.

“I thought it was as obvious as full moons,” Derek admits and chuckles, “You didn’t ask.”

“Because I didn’t think it was a real legitimate thing,” Stiles tells him, “H-How…” He huffs, “Does it make sex difficult?”

Derek nods slightly, “In ways. It doesn’t ‘get in the way’, but I have to be careful.”

“Be careful why, though?” Stiles asks, probably a little too intrigued by his partner’s anatomy, “So you won’t hurt them or..?”

“Yeah - **if** they know - but I’ve… No one’s ever known. I’m normally good about keeping it a secret. It also renders condoms useless, more or less.”

“It’s a part of your body for a reason,” Stiles muses as he eats, “Why not find a sweet little werewolf girl and settle down? Use it for what it was meant for instead of, I dunno, restraining yourself.”

“Because that isn’t what I want,” Derek says as he raises his brows, as if it wasn’t already fucking **obvious** that that’s not where he wants to end up in the end.

“Then what do you want?” Stiles asks, “I just think it’s… Wasteful? To not use something you were meant to use, is all I’m saying, you know?”

“There are a lot of women in the world that don’t start procreation in their early teenage years,” Derek responds as he frowns, “And a lot of people that don’t reproduce at **all**. Why are you expecting me to?”

“I’m not expecting you to do anything. I’m just talking out of my ass, ignore me. It’s your dick, dude. Do what you want with it.”

Derek chuckles and shakes his head, “I’m not in a hurry like you think I should be,” he says as he continues eating, “If I wanted to settle down, it would be with a mate, not just a ‘sweet little werewolf girl’.”

“I didn’t mean any offense by that,” Stiles clarifies, “I dunno what you’re into, or what you want. I dunno if you even wanna settle down… Do you? Every time I ask you what you want, you never answer me.”

Derek shrugs, “There isn’t an answer to it,” he says honestly, “I don’t plan things, I don’t want for things.”

“I do. I think I want things too much sometimes.”

“That’s why I don’t,” Derek says as he finishes his first plate and moves to the second, “After this long… It’s not something I wait for, or expect.”

“Maybe not,” Stiles shrugs, “But… Do you seriously not want anything at all? Like, do you not want a ‘mate’, or-or a long satisfying life with someone?”

Derek stills and looks at Stiles, chewing slowly as he watches his partner, “I do,” he replies simply, looking over the younger man’s features quickly.

“Rightfully so,” Stiles nods, scraping the last bit of his eggs from the plate, “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with not wanting to be alone.”

Derek slides one of the smaller plates to Stiles as he puts the fork of ham to his mouth, “More bacon?”

“Yeah,” Stiles grins to himself and takes some, shoving an entire piece into his mouth.

“Next time you want to know something,” Derek says softly, “Ask once, and don’t press. Chances are I’ll end up telling you.” It’s probably exposing himself a bit too much, but otherwise Stiles might get himself killed.

“Got it,” Stiles responds and glances at Derek, chewing up the greasy goodness, “Hey, um…” he reaches up and cards his fingers through his hair and raises a pointed brow at his partner when the hair stays up completely, “You maybe wanna help me get clean after this?”

Derek nods, “Have you been changing your bandages?”

Stiles swallows guiltily and stares at Derek, “You do it for me all the time, I didn’t know what I was doing.”

Derek sighs and narrows his brows, “You’ve seen me do it more times than I can count.”

“Right,” Stiles acknowledges that, “But you’re better at it,” he tries to reason.

“That’s no excuse to leave it on so it can get infected,” Derek growls and finishes his food quickly, “Next time, tell me.”

“You were… In heat, or something,” Stiles shrugs it off, taking a little longer to finish his food, “It’s not a big deal. We’ve literally been through this, stop worrying so much.”

Derek finishes eating and starts cleaning away the plates, piling them into the sink to wash later (once Stiles has been taken care of). He returns to his partner, helping him up, “At least be **honest** and tell me how much pain you’re in, I’ll know if you’re lying,” he reminds the younger man.

Stiles stares at the little bit of food left on his plate longingly, then meets Derek’s eyes, “It hurts, maybe just a little more than normal, but I don’t feel like I’m dying or anything.”

“Are you still hungry?”

“You literally just pulled me up out of my seat and I have more bacon left. What do you think?”

Derek takes the plate and hands it to Stiles before carrying him down the hall and into the bathroom, “Eat,” he growls as he starts washing his hands.

“You’re ridiculous,” Stiles says fondly and scarfs down the rest of the bacon, putting the plate on the bathroom counter before pulling his shirt off as he chews.

Derek turns to Stiles, kneeling and carefully taking off the bandaging, wrapping it in a bag and throwing it in the trash before washing his hands off, going through the motions that he could probably do in his sleep at this point.

He pushes the waterproof bandage against Stiles’s skin firmly and turns on the water so that it’ll heat up, “Stay,” he says firmly and walks out of the bathroom, going to his to change into his swimming trunks.

Stiles mock salutes the air after Derek leaves the room and manages to push his sweatpants down far enough for them to fall the rest of the way. He’s not **as** insecure with himself anymore, and he trusts Derek a lot more with something like this now that they’ve done it a few times.

He moves closer to the tub and winces as he lifts a leg to get in, sighing at the warm water against his feet, anticipating how good it’ll feel all over him.

Derek changes quickly and walks back into the bathroom, “I thought I said ‘stay’,” he says as he closes the door most of the way and moves close, stepping into the tub as well and moving Stiles to stand under the water as he reaches for the shampoo, “ **Stubborn**.”

“You know it, big guy,” Stiles smiles and rolls his head back a little, expression going soft and he hums his contentment, “I don’t think I can go so long without a shower again, I’m pretty sure my balls were starting to stick to my thighs.”

Derek narrows his eyes and gives Stiles a look as he tries not to express his amusement too much, “Shut up, Stilinski.”

“Impossible,” Stiles mumbles and drops his forehead against Derek’s bare chest, making it easier on the older man to get the shampoo in. The only downside, and he’s not **entirely** sure it is a downside, is the fact that he’s literally stuck looking down the expanse of his partner’s stupid abs.

Derek runs his hands through Stiles’s hair, scratching carefully, massaging his scalp as his cheeks heat. They **both** have gotten far too comfortable with this, clearly.

“Mm,” Stiles groans and mindlessly puts his hands on the taller man’s hips to steady himself, closing his eyes as Derek works the shampoo through his hair.

The werewolf frowns at the way Stiles is acting - after what he did, washing his partner makes him feel more guilty. He wants to apologize again, properly, but he’s worried that bringing it up might disrupt the comfort between them.

“Have you at least been working?”

“I’m entitled to a few lazy days after what I’ve been through,” Stiles moves his hands slightly for better purchase on his partner’s slick skin and draws his head back enough to look up at Derek.

Derek looks down at the younger man, pushing his chin up with one hand, a little higher to rinse the shampoo from his hair, “Did you bother to call it in?”

“Of course I did,” Stiles says and lets his eyes fall shut for a moment, arms extended some and hands still pressed against Derek’s waist, “I’m not completely inept.”

Derek raises his brows but doesn’t comment, reaching for the conditioner and letting out a slow huff of breath as he tries not to think about the hands on him. He’s gotten good at avoiding improper thoughts while he’s taking care of Stiles, the last thing he needs is to get erect around him.

[MageStiles](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/) ϟ [Sparklinski](http://sparklinski.tumblr.com/)


	23. A Real Werewolf

If the walk back from the gas station doesn’t kill him, Stiles is pretty sure Derek **will** , because the older man had been vehement about him not leaving the house. His partner is like some kind of food Nazi against sweets, though, and if he doesn’t get a Reese’s cup in his system and soon, he’s pretty sure he might die from low blood sugar or something dramatic.

He just needs something sweet and if he would’ve asked Derek to get it for him, he would’ve been told ‘no’. So he waited until his partner left to go and get him a TV, and then took off on a little trek to the nearby gas station, which is a good bit further than he anticipated.

Stiles looks over the row of candy and his mouth all but salivates. Naturally, he’s having a difficult time picking just one thing, so he indulges himself and grabs about five different kinds, clutching them all desperately to his chest.

“Sweet tooth?” a man asks as he watches Stiles, smiling knowingly as he glances over the candy, “I’m a bit familiar with it myself.”

Stiles turns his head and looks over the man talking to him before nodding, wondering why there’s something almost familiar about him, “Uh yeah,” he responds, looking down at the candy before meeting the guy’s creepily penetrating blue eyes, “I keep telling my partner to get me some candy, but the asshole never does.”

The man moves closer, his fingers reaching out to his side, running over the bags of candy as he walks to Stiles, “Well, you know what I say?” he raises his brows innocently, waiting for a moment as he glances around at the people in the gas station and then turns back to Stiles, “' _If you want a job done right, do it yourself_ '.”

Stiles nods slowly and watches the stranger’s peculiar behavior, brows narrowing. It takes a moment, but then the words just kind of rub him the wrong way, like there’s some kind of double entendre behind the saying. He drops the candy the second he realizes what’s going on and goes for the gun in his holster.

“Stiles,” the man says as he grabs Stiles’s arm and pulls the gun out of the holster himself, his own hand gloved as he turns the safety off and shakes his head in disapproval, “You know what I am, why try to shoot me with a **gun**?”

Stiles clenches his jaw and tries to stay calm, glaring at the other man, “I figured it’d at least buy me a few minutes to get away from you, you piece of shit.”

“Such a mouth,” Peter tsks as he chuckles and aims the gun at the woman passing the aisle they’re in and he shoots her in the head, moving quickly, dragging Stiles around as he takes out the other five people, including the man at the register, “Stiles, _Stiles_ , **Stiles** \- you just won’t die, will you?”

Stiles panics a little more openly with every body that drops, flinching as the shots go off and fighting against the guy’s hold on him, “I’m like herpes,” he grits out, wishing he would’ve added something more to the note he left for Derek like ‘if I’m not here when you get back, send the Cavalry’, “I just keep coming back.”

Peter nods in agreement and turns around, pulling Stiles close, “I’ve sent _two_ people to do the job of taking you out, and you’re still walking, how is your stomach coming along?” he asks, “Do you think it’ll scar over?” He reaches up and takes Stiles’s jaw in his hand, staring him in the eyes, “What is it about you that has my **dear** nephew constantly coming to your aide?”

“Must be my sparkling personality,” Stiles says dryly, trying to jerk his chin away from the other man’s hold.

“Must be,” Peter agrees and glances around again, dropping Stiles’s gun on the floor, “You’ve killed six people today, Stiles, you’re getting quite a reputation. Oh, and you probably killed the others outside, but I guess no one will ever _really_ know the truth.”

“Derek’s gonna know it was you,” Stiles spits out, chest heaving with a mixture of anger and fear, “And he’s gonna kill you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Stiles,” Peter says as he tugs the younger man through the back of the store and out the door behind, “My nephew, determined as he is, he’s still just an omega. A weak, lonely little omega with no family and no pack.”

He glances back at Stiles as he pulls him through the dense growth of trees, “He’s been on his own since he was a boy, playing ‘FBI’ - just because he’s the good guy doesn’t mean he’s going to win, this isn’t a fairytale.”

Stiles swallows nervously and tries to fight still, even though his stomach feels like it’s on fire at this point, “I think you’re severely underestimating how much I mean to him,” he says, trying to keep himself calm, but he knows he’s going to end up dead and Derek’s going to be left with no one, “Just because he’s an omega doesn’t mean he won’t rip your fucking guts out.”

“Oh, I’m aware of what you mean to him,” Peter says as he pulls Stiles close, looking at him pointedly, “I can smell him all over you, you’ve become **quite** domestic. But he hasn’t knotted you, you’re not his mate.”

He stops and breathes in Stiles’s scent as he leans in to the younger man, “It doesn’t matter what you mean to him, Stiles, or what he means to you - either way, you’ll be dead, and my sweet, broken little nephew will continue on, living alone, and knowing that the reason you’re dead is because of him.”

“Wow,” Stiles says bitterly, “Were you this big of a fucking self-absorbed douchebag before you were burned alive?” he asks harshly, then spits in the werewolf’s face, “Go to Hell.”

Peter wipes his face and grabs Stiles around the throat, backing him up against a tree and shucking his own jacket off one shoulder, “That wasn’t very nice,” he says as he drops it to the ground, “I know that you’re upset, terrified, fearing for your life - I can smell it. But that doesn’t mean you have to bring up…” he reaches down, pressing roughly against Stiles’s stomach, “Old _wounds_.”

Stiles cries out and his eyes widen, hands moving down in a feeble attempt to get Peter to stop, “Just do it!” he yells, eyes watering because he’s too weak, he can’t fend for himself and this is going to happen whether he wants it to or not, “Fucking kill me already.”

“Not yet,” Peter says and growls in approval, his eyelids drooping as he scents Stiles’s neck, “I want him to see the light leave your eyes when you die, just like his last partner. Tell me, _Stiles_ , have you seen a **real** werewolf yet?”

Stiles doesn’t respond to him, he just trembles against the tree and stares at the stupid, smug look on Peter’s face, body so pumped with adrenaline he can hardly feel how badly his stomach hurts.

“I know you like your… _Monsters_ ,” Peter says as he shifts, fur sprouting over his skin as he grows in size, arms and chest breaking through his shirt, his pants tearing last as he shakes them off and lifts his hand to Stiles’s chin, claws reaching out to touch his skin gently.

Stiles’s eyes widen even more and he’s pretty sure he’s never been **this** terrified in his entire life, not even when he’d been lying on the ground dying. The terror wracks through him and he shakes almost violently, turning his face away and closing his eyes as he loses control of his bladder entirely.

Peter grins, baring his teeth and licking them as he scents Stiles again, “That’s the response I was looking for,” he says as he wraps his arms around the younger man, the claws of his feet digging into the ground as he darts quickly through the trees, as fast as a bullet as he holds Stiles close.

* * *

Before Derek’s even out of the car, he already knows something’s wrong, and he climbs out quickly, running to the front door and breaking it down before he can stop himself long enough to unlock it.

It tears from the hinges and he moves quickly through the house, even though he **knows** Stiles isn’t there. He stops as he comes back into the living room, looking at the coffee table and walking to it to pick up the letter left for him:

_I went to the gas station just down the road, try not to freak out. I’ll be right back._

Derek crumbles up the note, clutching it in his fist as he leaves the house, following Stiles’s scent and running down the road as **humanly** fast as he can. He smells the death and blood before he even reaches the gas station, darting passed the cops already on scene as he walks around to the backside, tracking Stiles’s scent into the woods and stopping at a tree.

He looks down at the claw marks that have torn up the dirt and grass, and he can smell Stiles’s fear and pain, Peter’s overwhelming scent of arousal and amusement, and Derek’s stomach twists as he recognizes the almost subtle smell of urine. He glances back behind him towards the gas station, but continues on, following the torn up ground until he reaches the end of the forest line, stopping when he sees Peter standing in wait, his hand around Stiles’s throat as he holds him there.

Peter raises his brows as he looks over his nephew, the hand around Stiles’s waist prodding his bullet wound, “Hello, Derek.”

“Don’t,” Stiles grunts out and shouts in pain, trying to push the hand away from him as he stares hopelessly at his partner, “Go, you need to go. He wanted you to come here, he wants you to watch-”

“Shhh, pet,” Peter purrs as he turns into Stiles, “He’s **very** pretty, Derek.”

“Peter,” Derek says tentatively, moving forward a step and stopping when his uncle presses into the wound, “Please, let him go.”

Stiles’s shout turns into a cry and half aborted sobs, body still shaking violently, “Derek, go,” he gasps out, “Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

Derek shakes his head as he winces at the sound of Stiles’s sharp cry, “Peter, take me instead. Take me, and leave him alone.”

“I can’t do that,” Peter shakes his head, “That’s not how this works, Derek, but you already know that, don’t you? This is your… Valiant attempt to save your _sweet little human_ , even though you know it’s pointless to try.”

Stiles sniffles and fights against Peter, eyes trained raptly on Derek as he uses what strength he has to no avail.

“Don’t hurt him,” Derek says as he looks at Stiles’s stomach, the blood spotting his shirt, “Please, I-I’ll do anything you want, Peter-”

Peter turns to Stiles, scenting him again and smirking, “I’m tempted to just keep him myself,” he sighs and stops when the sharp sound cuts through their conversation and Peter shouts in pain as he’s thrown back from the bullet hitting him in the shoulder.

Stiles falls forward to his knees when Peter’s thrown back, all but dropping to the ground on one elbow as he reaches down to clutch at his stomach, barely able to lift his head to look at his partner, “ _Derek_.”

Derek moves forward, grabbing Stiles and pulling him close, covering him and gasping out when a bullet slams into his lower back. He growls and shifts, moving his partner to the tree line before he runs back out as Peter starts to stand up.

Stiles slumps against the tree and grunts out shallow breaths, trying not to focus so much on the pain, but the possibility of actually making it out of this alive. He furrows his brows  when his partner heads back towards Peter and he wants to call out to him, to tell him not to risk it, or to be careful, but it’s not at all what comes out.

“Rip his fucking guts out.”

Peter roars as he shifts and throws out his arm, nails raking across Derek’s chest and tearing his shirt up, the both of them grabbing at one another as a third shot hits Peter in the neck and Derek twists, pulling him down and putting his fingers around the alpha’s neck, squeezing tightly before ripping his head off. The arm holding his shoulder drops as the older werewolf goes limp at once.

Stiles sighs in relief when he watches Derek kill Peter, although there’s still someone shooting at them and he looks around the best he can, unable to see anything so he calls out for the older man, “Come on! We need to get outta here!”

Derek looks at Stiles as he stands back up and starts to respond when he’s hit a second time, just between his pecs and he falls back on the ground.

“No!” Stiles yells and scrambles from the tree, all but dropping down next to Derek and pulling on his shoulders to try and get him up, “Come on, you gotta get up, big guy. We need to go.”

Derek stands up slowly, the pain of the bullets searing his skin and he winces, numb at first before he reaches out as he hears the trigger being pulled and catches the bullet just inches from his partner’s head.

He looks up to the tree line and sees her finally, _Kate Argent_ , positioned high up in a tree and he shifts quickly. Thick, black fur grows out over his body, eyes flashing red as he shoots upwards, towering over Stiles as he rips through his clothes and roars - the sound so loud and violent that it causes the human to wince and cover his ears.

Derek moves from Stiles’s side, claws digging into the ground and then he leaps up through the air to snatch Kate from the branch she’s perched on.

Stiles flinches and cowers back slightly, timidly watching as his partner drops back down, a woman’s body falling and hitting the ground as well and his mouth pops open.

Derek holds Kate’s face in his hand as he pulls her back to Peter’s body, growling as he throws her down beside him and the force of it knocks her out completely. He knows he can’t kill her, as much as he wants to, he’d rather watch her rot in prison for eternity. He’s shaking as he stares at her, his whole body trembling as he tries to calm himself down.

Stiles doesn’t mean to, not really, because he knows Derek would never intentionally harm him, but he finds himself stepping back blindly, putting distance between them. He used to think werewolves were cool, but after Peter, he’s pretty sure he’s not going to be able to read or look at anything werewolf-related without pissing himself again.

Derek frowns at the scent of Stiles’s fear and he turns, if his partner had been ‘small’ before, he might as well be an **ant** now. He moves to Stiles in concern, the bullets in his skin tugging painfully and he sits down, which to Stiles probably looks like he can stop staring directly upward, and now at a slightly lesser angle.

He lets out a huff of breath as he watches the younger man, and then whines, “ **I won’t hurt you**.”

“I-I-I believe you,” Stiles stammers nervously, but he’s not making an attempt to move any closer, hand still pressed to his stomach, “But I don’t-I can’t come any closer to you when you’re like that, Derek, I can’t.”

Derek reaches out, claw gently brushing Stiles’s shirt where the blood is, “ **We need to get you home**.”

“Shift back,” Stiles requests and almost trips as he moves back further, reminded too much of Peter when his partner touches him like that.

Derek lifts his brows and shakes his head, “ **I’ll be naked, I can’t get you home _naked_**.”

“You also can’t get me home when you’re covered in fur and almost _nine_ feet tall,” Stiles tells him, brows furrowed as he resolutely keeps his distance, “Shift back.”

“ **I can get you home like this** ,” Derek responds, “ **It’s safer, I’ll be _faster_**.”

Stiles regards the werewolf cautiously and sighs, knowing that they need to get out of here and fast, “I pissed myself,” he warns him, taking a step closer to Derek, “And the cops probably think I killed everyone at the gas station, my gun is on scene.”

“ **I know, I can hear them** ,” Derek reaches out to pick Stiles up gently, one hand around his back and the other underneath him, “ **I’ll take care of it, but don’t worry about it now**.”

He moves to the line of the woods, being careful to keep Stiles still, he knows his partner is injured (hopefully not too much), but he draws in the pain at once as he slinks off at a brisk pace.

He reaches the house quickly, listening close to the people in the houses around them as he takes the back door into the garage, shifting finally (because otherwise he won’t fit in the door) and carrying Stiles to the couch. The front door is still open and hanging, so he closes it the best he can for now before walking to his room to get at **least** a pair of boxers on.

Stiles averts his eyes out of respect after Derek lays him down on the couch and rests his hand on his stomach, feeling the dampness of new blood on his shirt and he wonders how bad it is, if Peter completely ripped it open or if he just ripped a few stitches, “Are you okay?” he calls out, suddenly remembering that Derek had been shot.

Derek comes back into the room in his pajama pants, a change of Stiles’s own and a new shirt for the younger man, a first aid box clutched in his other hand as he joins Stiles on the couch, “It’s fine,” even though he knows it isn’t.

He reaches out for Stiles’s shirt, “Hopefully I won’t have to take you to the hospital.”

“If you take me to the hospital, I’m probably going to be arrested,” Stiles points out, shaking his head in disbelief, “There has to be some kind of security camera or something, Derek. I watched him kill them all.”

“Was he changed?” Derek asks as he lifts the shirt carefully, glancing at the damage before moving to the kitchen to wash his hands, “Was he shifted in the gas station?”

“No,” Stiles says, looking in the direction of the kitchen, “He looked human. Which means that even **if** there were security cameras and they see him shoot all those people, I’m still going to look suspicious because I disappeared with him. They’re gonna wanna know what happened and I dunno what to say.”

“They won’t question you,” Derek says confidently, coming back in and sitting down again, “Werewolves, in their human form, they ruin recordings or photographs taken of them. Even shifted, it causes some minor disruptance.”

He looks Stiles in the eyes, “If we’re lucky, they’ll cover all of it up completely, and you’ll have to get a new gun.”

“And if we’re not lucky, they’ll be here in a matter of time to arrest me for killing all of those people.”

“They won’t,” Derek responds firmly, his eyes flashing as he growls, “Trust me, you’ll be fine.”

He changes the bandage and sits Stiles up on his feet to help him change, “Peter’s out of the picture, which… From the looks of it, was planned. I think he was set up, Kate was **waiting** for him to make his move. And the power it takes to manipulate a higher up,” he shakes his head, “They’ll want to cover this up, Peter’s body will probably vanish altogether, like it did last time.”

“You seriously don’t think they’ll question the fact that my gun is what killed all those people?” Stiles asks nervously, feeling his stomach roll as he remembers the way the first woman dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Derek shakes his head, “They never questioned me about Vernon being shot, it’s the same thing all over again.”

He pulls Stiles’s pants up as his heart races and he looks the other man in the eyes, “The only difference is, this time it didn’t go _exactly_ the way they had it planned. You’re alive. Chances are, they won’t be happy about that. But I’m guessing Peter’s been the one trying to get you killed. Maybe they’ll leave us alone now - they got what they wanted, he’s dead.”

Stiles touches Derek’s wrist and narrows his brows, “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks then, eyes dropping to the weird looking wound just between his partner’s pecs, “That doesn’t look okay to me.”

Derek looks down at it as well and shakes his head, “It’s not, but it’s fine for now. I need to go back, maybe the cops haven’t reached the crime scene yet. I need to get two of the bullets she was using.”

“Let me go with you,” Stiles insists worriedly.

“You’re injured, you need to lie down,” Derek responds as he picks Stiles up and carries him into his bedroom, “I’ll be back, it won’t take long.”

“Derek,” Stiles is about to insist again, but he stops himself and sighs, wrapping his arms around the older man’s neck to pull him into a hug, “Promise me you’ll be careful?”

“I always am,” Derek says as his heart races and he hugs Stiles back, “You’re the one that always gets shot and stabbed.”

“Shut up, Hale,” Stiles says softly and squeezes him tighter for a moment, then pulls back, “Go, I’m timing you.”

Derek smiles, leaning down and pressing a soft, short kiss to the younger man’s forehead before he turns and leaves the room.

* * *

By the time Derek arrives on scene, the bodies have already been taken care of, and even the ground has been tidied up, no blood, no sign that there was even a struggle. Even the clothes he tore out of are gone. Which means that the chances of Stiles being questioned about any of it have lessened even more.

It’s both comforting and discomforting at the same time, considering he’ll be dead within the day if he doesn’t get his hands on one of the bullets. Considering there’s one embedded directly in his chest, he doesn’t have even **that** much time left.

He returns home, already starting to feel the effects of the wolfsbane bullet, breaking out in a sweat and feeling numb in his feet as he walks into the house, locking the garage door and moving to replace the front one.

The moment Stiles hears movement in the house, he forces himself up out of the bed and meanders out into the living room, hand under his shirt and touching his stomach, “That didn’t take too long,” he says, eyebrows narrowing at his partner, “Did you get what you needed?”

Derek shakes his head as he removes the broken wood from the frame and drops it on the ground, wrenching the old door away and grabbing the next, “The bodies were gone.”

Stiles frowns and moves around so that he can actually see Derek’s face better, “What’s gonna happen to you if you don’t get the bullets?” He asks tentatively.

“I’ll die,” Derek answers grimly, checking the door and the hinges, then testing the lock with his own key before closing it and turning to Stiles, “They’re bullets made **for** werewolves - wolfsbane bullets.”

“D-Do they have to be like, the exact same ones Kate had or-or can they be… _Different_?” Stiles asks nervously, stomach twisting at the thought of his partner succumbing to the bullets.

“Most are made the same way, by hunters,” Derek admits as he moves to slowly sit on the couch, grimacing as he hunches over and rests his elbows on his knees, “I’m not completely sure, I’m not a hunter - I’ve never been shot before.”

Stiles moves to Derek and stands next to him, reaching up with his free hand to scratch his fingers through his partner’s hair, trying to soothe him some, “Lucky for you, I happen to be friends with one. Relax and I’ll call Allison, okay?”

Derek narrows his brows at the comment and, while he **is** lucky, if what Stiles says is the truth, he’s never liked agent Argent, for obvious reasons, “She can’t be trusted.”

“You don’t know her like I do,” Stiles says and reluctantly pulls his hand from Derek’s hair to move and get his phone, “Believe it or not, she’s not as cold as she comes off at the office. She’s actually really nice.”

Derek doesn’t have the strength to argue it, getting up and deciding to take a quick shower to rinse the blood off of himself.

Stiles dials Allison’s number as he worriedly watches Derek disappear into the bathroom, holding the phone to his ear as he waits for her to pick up.

_“Argent.”_

“Allison!” Stiles says at once, “Hey, we’re friends, right?”

_“Uh, yeah, why?”_

“And friends do things for other friends, do they not?”

_“Yes, but I’m not doing anything you think you have to **convince** me to do. We’re not that close of friends, yet.”_

“Allison, listen,” Stiles wets his lips and huffs out a breath, “Your family are werewolf hunters, I know they are so… Don’t-don’t deny it, okay?”

_“... Okay? What do you need?”_

“Your aunt showed up,” Stiles says lowly, shaking his head to himself, “A-And she um, she shot a certain furry friend of mine… Twice,” he tells her, then sighs, “Can you get your hands on a couple wolfsbane bullets?”

_“I can… But it’s gonna take some time, Stiles. I’m not a **hunter** , not exactly. I don’t have any of the bullets, my dad does.”_

“Try to hurry,” Stiles breathes out, “One of the bullets is in his chest, he… He doesn’t look so good.”

_“I’ll do what I can, call me if he loses consciousness.”_

“Okay,” Stiles says and looks towards the bathroom again, “Thanks, Allison.”

_“Any time.”_

Stiles tosses the phone to the coffee table and limps his way into the hallway, stopping next to the bathroom door as he leans in closer to it, “Are you okay?” He asks his partner.

“No,” Derek mutters as he turns off the water and climbs out of the tub, grabbing his towel to wrap it around his waist.

“Allison’s gonna get the bullets,” Stiles tells him and steps back from the door some, so he won’t be in the older man’s way when he comes out, “You should lay down or something until then, big guy.”

Derek opens the door and looks down at Stiles, “Can you lift your arms?”

“Probably, why?” Stiles asks in confusion as he stares up at Derek.

“I need you to patch them up, at least for now,” Derek says as he walks into his bedroom, “Otherwise I’ll get blood all over everything.”

“Okay,” Stiles nods, “I’ll go get the first aide, you get dressed and I’ll be right back,” He says, then hobbles back out to the living room the get the kit.

Derek grabs a second change of pants instead of reusing his pajama bottoms, carefully stepping into them and pulling them up, taking a shirt from the drawer above, but not bothering with it as he moves to sit on the edge of his bed.

Stiles walks back into Derek’s bedroom and moves to sit the kit down next to his partner, wincing a little as he opens it and grabs the gauze. He gives the older man a worried look before stepping closer, carefully pushing the cloth to the wound on his chest and reaching for the tape, pulling a piece off with his teeth before pressing it to the gauze.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he says confidently.

Derek watches Stiles silently, his hand reaching up to touch the younger man’s waist, just in case he needs support, “How is your stomach? Are you in any pain?”

“I’m fine,” Stiles says and he is, he’s not even thinking of himself or of any aches or pains he might have right now, “I can’t-” He breathes out through his nose and presses the tape against the older man’s skin, making sure it sticks, “I can’t take your pain away, but how do you feel?”

“I couldn’t explain it if I tried,” Derek says honestly, “It’s sharp, and it burns; but it’s more than that.”

“T-Try to think of something that makes you happy,” Stiles says, “If anything even does, I dunno, but try to think of something else, okay? And stand up, I need to get the one on your back.”

Derek stands and turns around, not bothering to mention that this, in it’s own morbid way, kind of makes him more than happy.

Stiles touches the skin next to the wound and grimaces before repeating the actions, pressing the gauze to it and taping it down, hand moving up to his partner’s shoulder, squeezing gently, “Get your shirt on and you should lay down.”

Derek does so without question, then finally moves slowly onto the bed and under the covers, laying on his side as he reaches up the best he can to touch where he can feel the bottom corner of the patch on his chest. There’s no possible way he’ll end up making it out of this alive. He’s gonna die because of that bitch, but at least Stiles will be safe.

Stiles watches Derek and tries to swallow down the lump in his throat, the fear of losing his partner settling in deep into his gut and he moves, sitting down on the bed next to the older man as he frowns.

“You’re not allowed to die on me,” he says and his voice breaks slightly, hand reaching to touch Derek’s arm.

Derek blinks slowly and reaches out for Stiles, wrapping his arms around the younger man as he pulls him close, laying him down on the bed and curling against him as he closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of his partner, “Why did you leave the house?”

“You wouldn’t get me any candy, I have a sweet tooth,” Stiles explains and it just feels kind of silly now, that this has happened because he wanted chocolate, “I’m sorry,” he says, heart racing at having the older man’s arms around him.

Derek frowns in annoyance, wanting to shake his head or roll his eyes, but it doesn’t surprise him in the slightest, so he doesn’t bother wasting his energy, “That’s what you get for not listening to me.”

“I know and I feel like shit,” Stiles says, sighing as he touches one of Derek’s forearms, “You don’t have to rub it in my face.”

“I got your chocolate,” Derek says then, smiling slightly, “It’s in the passenger’s side seat, you idiot.”

Stiles feels his eyes water then, but he smiles weakly and huffs out a brief chuckle, “I **am** an idiot,” he agrees.

Derek presses his hand to the boy’s stomach, over the patch on his skin and he drops his head to Stiles’s hairline and says gruffly: “Shut up, Stilinski.”

[MageStiles](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/) ϟ [Sparklinski](http://sparklinski.tumblr.com/)


	24. Finale

Derek parks the car in his usual spot, already feeling wary of returning to the office. It was nice working at home together and not having to deal with the things people say about him behind his back, but he supposes it comes with the job.

He looks at Stiles in the passenger’s side seat, “Maybe we can convince them to give us another week.”

“Are you kidding?” Stiles raises his brows and shakes his head, “No way. You’re not dying from any weird wolfsbane bullets and I can officially scrub my own ass without your help, I wanna be back. I wanna sit at my desk instead of that damn bed.”

Derek chuckles to himself and grabs his coat and the last of their files from the back seat before climbing out of the car. He moves around to Stiles’s side, just in case he wants help getting out.

Stiles opens his door and pointedly gets out on his own, smirking up at the older man, “See,” he says proudly, “Don’t need your help.” He looks at the building and shuts his door, “Tell me it doesn’t feel good in the slightest to be back. I’m excited.”

Derek rolls his eyes and reaches out to put his hand on Stiles’s back as they walk towards the elevators, “Someone on the third floor is talking about how they think I set up Kate Argent and how her arrest still isn’t justified. It doesn’t feel good in the slightest.”

Stiles snorts at the older man and pushes the button once they’re in the elevator, “Are you ever not gonna listen to them? Can’t you tune them out or something?”

“It’s more difficult when they’re determined to be heard,” Derek admits, “I can tune out people that aren’t **trying** to be overheard, but he’s speaking loudly.”

“Yeah?” Stiles side-glances up at Derek, “Well fuck him then, because she had it coming. It’s totally justified.”

Derek smiles slightly and walks out of the elevator, moving into the office and taking a seat at his desk as he glances at Stiles’s before he starts putting his coat and holster up, dropping the files down onto the side of the desk as the others in the room watch them.

Stiles ignores all of the eyes on them and feels a slight sense of relief when he sees a new gun waiting for him on his desk, but at the same time it’s slightly disconcerting as well.

He sits down and reaches out to boot his computer up, picking the weapon up off of the piece of paper beneath it and looking it over before putting it in his holster.

Stiles glances up at Derek briefly, then grabs the paper and begins reading it, heart starting to race and stomach twisting sickly at the fact that he’s being reassigned to a different partner and it’s because his _own_ requested it.

Derek glances up from his seat in concern as he watches Stiles and he sees the paper in the younger man’s hands, “What is it? Your heart's racing.”

After everything they’ve been through, Stiles is having a difficult time believing Derek would actually do this to him, “Like you don’t know,” he says dryly and looks up at the older man, laying the paper down as he starts gathering his things, “I can’t even believe you right now.”

Derek frowns at the tone of Stiles’s voice and stands up, reaching for the paper and catching a few of the words before his blood runs cold, “Stiles-”

“Don’t,” Stiles cuts him off as he stands up, putting a few things under his arms as he looks at the empty desk across from Allison, “I’m getting the message loud and clear, big guy. Hope your new partner isn’t as insufferable as I was.”

The hurt in Stiles's voice is almost palpable and Derek feels guilty even though he's still genuinely stunned. He looks back at Stiles as his partner sits across from Allison and it feels like someone's punched him in the gut.

After everything, this happens, and the only one he has to blame is himself.

[MageStiles](http://magestiles.tumblr.com/) ϟ [Sparklinski](http://sparklinski.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a short, month-long hiatus between this and part 2. I'm going to start updating a bunch of other fics and werking on a few new ones before the second part starts. No, this fic isn't vanishing, you have my werd. There's already PLENTY written (and by plenty I mean all of part 2 and most of part 3 is already done, it all just needs to be edited by me).  
> See you next month fer part 2! Until then, there'll be more to read by us!
> 
> ~MageStiles


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